‘Good noontide to ye. Fancy some grapes? A few nuts, mebbe? Come sit an’ rest yoreselves, pore liddle waifs!’
Song smiled and waved back prettily to him, commenting to the others, ‘We could do with a rest. What d’you say, pore liddle waifs?’
With a grunt and a groan the big hedgehog heaved himself out of the hammock and bowed politely. ‘I go by the name o’ Soll. Full name’s Sollertree, ’cos I’m the only ’edge’og in these parts. Now wot be yore given names, me liddle h’infants?’
Song introduced herself and her friends. ‘I’m Song, he’s Dann and that’s Burble and Dippler. Excuse me, sir, but shouldn’t your name be Solitary?’
The big fellow waved a paw airily. ‘Solitary, Sollertree, wot difference, pretty one, save that Sollertree’s the name I gave meself, an’ I like it fine. Come, sit ye down on my ’ammock. A more comfy berth y’never found, eh?’
They sat on the hammock’s edge, gently swinging back and forth. Apart from the odd spike which had to be removed from the canvas, they all agreed it was very comfortable. Soll smiled with pleasure.
‘H’ideal, h’ideal! Now, you ’elp yoreselves to grapes whilst I crack some almonds for ye. Grow ’em all meself, nothin’ better fer puttin’ a twinkle to yore eye an’ a point to yore spikes.’
The grapes were delicious, small but plump and juicy. Soll sat on a treestump, lining almonds up and popping them gently with his giant mallet.
‘Isn’t it lonely, mister Soll, living alone in the midst of the woods with nobeast for company?’ Dann asked.
Soll passed them a great pawful of kernels, raising his bushy brows. ‘Lonely, wot’s lonely? Great shells’n’vines, ’ow could a body get lonely round ’ere, liddle bushtail? I got birds t’sing fer me, sunshine, showers, fresh breezes t’ruffle the hair o’ my lovely trees, clear water t’drink . . . Oh, an’ Croikle, too!’ He reached down by the side of the stump and a small green frog hopped on to his platelike paw. Soll grinned happily. ‘Croikle, these are me new friends. Bid ’em good noontide, will ye?’
The frog’s tiny green throat bulged out. ‘Croikle!’
This seemed to amuse Soll greatly. ‘Hohohoho! ’Tis all ’e ever says. Croikle! An’ who pray could argue wid that? Lissen t’this. Yore a great fierce beast who’s slayed thousands, aren’t you, mate?’
The frog gazed at him with its small golden eyes. ‘Croikle!’
Soll laughed until his spikes rattled, and the four travellers could not resist laughing along with the simple-hearted giant. He passed them more almonds and grapes. ‘See, my friend’s never in a bad mood, never argues or grizzles. Go on, ask ’im a question.’
Dippler winked at the little frog. ‘Soll tells me you ate four barrels o’ grapes’n’almonds. True?’
The frog turned its gaze on the Guosim shrew as if it had heard his question and was considering the answer. Then it spoke. ‘Croikle!’
Soll nearly fell off his treestump laughing. ‘Hohohoohoohoo! ’E said it weren’t four barrels, ’twas six!’
He encouraged the others to question his frog, commenting each time the tiny creature croaked. Song, Dann and Burble took turns.
‘Tell me, sir, where d’you sleep at night?’
‘Croikle!’
‘Well I never. ’E said that ’e kicks me out o’ my ’ammock an’ sleeps there every night. Hoohoohoohoo!’
‘Is it true that frogs like to swim in the stream?’
‘Croikle!’
‘Wot, swim, says ’e, never! I’ve got me own liddle boat, he says, mister Soll made it outta an almond shell. Hohohoho!’
‘Sir, you look like a fine singer, would you sing us a song?’
‘Croikle!’
‘Did you ’ear that? ’E just sang ’is favourite song, the shortest one ever written. My my, wot a clever frog. Hohohohoohoo!’
The banter went back and forth until noon shadows began to lengthen. Song was enjoying herself, but she thought it was time they made ready to depart. Soll was busy crushing a grape, removing the pips and feeding it to Croikle as she explained it all to him, but he nodded his head understandingly. ‘Fear not, liddle ’uns, ’tis all clear to ole Soll. You want to find the stream goin’ south so’s you can go a-sailin’ in yore liddle boat. Now, ’twill take you best part o’ two days carryin’ the vessel, but lissen t’me, my dearies. I’ll carry yore boat an’ take you on a short cut that’ll ’ave you onstream in a single day. So rest you now in my ’ome for tonight, an’ we’ll start out bright’n’early on the morrow. Yes?’
The reply was eagerly given by the friends. ‘Oh yes please, mister Soll!’
The hedgehog’s dwelling was a long jumble of stone slabs, timber, branches and mud chinking built into the side of a rock ledge. It was very homely and comfortable inside, once Soll had stirred up the fire embers and fed them with wood and sweet-smelling peat clumps. Evening cast its calm cool spell over all, and the four friends lounged round the fire whilst Soll stirred a cauldron of vegetable soup, which stood on a tripod over the glow. Keeping his soft brown eyes upon the task, he began telling of his life.
‘I lived ’ere all me life. There were three of us, my goodwife Beechtipp, me liddle daughter Nettlebud an’ meself. Ah dearie me, it do seem a long time ago now. Anyhow, it was on a misty autumn time, I’ll never forget it. I’d trekked back t’the river seekin’ russet apples, as there was none ’ereabouts. Thought I might get a russet saplin’ to plant outside our door, so’s we could grow our own. Well, on the second day out it came on to storm, when ’twas too far t’make it back ’ome. So I made a shelter on the riverbank below the rapids an’ sat it out for three days. Then I returned ’ere, laden wi’ apples an’ a fine young saplin’ tree.’
Soll paused, gazing into the glowing peat fire, his face wreathed by aromatic smoke. He sighed heavily. ‘Aaaaaah, lack a day! Vermin ’ad raided my ’ome. ’Twas all ruin an’ wreck, with no sign of the villains. Tracks washed out by storm, y’see. My pore wife Beechtipp lay slain. She were a gentle creature, couldn’t fight t’save ’er life. My liddle daughter Nettlebud was gone, taken captive by vermin. My name was Skyspike in those days, ’cos of me great size an’ strength. But alas for me, I was never a warrior, couldn’t raise my paw to ’urt no livin’ thing. Be that as it may, I went mad with grief an’ sorrow. Three seasons I roamed far’n’wide, always searchin’, seekin’ to find my darlin’ Nettlebud. Questin’, wanderin’ o’er woodland, water an’ moorland. But my pore baby was gone. Then one day in autumn, when leaves died all redgold an’ small birds were flyin’ south’ards to chase the sun, I found I’d roamed back to this place. I’ll tell thee no lie, young friends, I sat ’ere an’ wept for days, thinkin’ on wot ’ad been. Then one mornin’ I awakened to find the sun shinin’ bright an’ birds singin’ joyous songs to it. A great peace came o’er me an’ I no longer wanted to spend my life wanderin’ about. That was when I changed my name to Sollertree an’ decided to live out my seasons ’ere. I rebuilt my ’ouse, reared liddle Croikle from a tadpole I found in the tricklin’ water, an’ guess wot?’ Soll pointed out of the doorway to a tree. ‘That saplin’ I’d cast away weren’t no russet, ’twas a fine young almond tree. There ’tis yonder, see? So ’ere I am an’ ’ere I’ll stay, an’ allow me t’say this. I’ll never do another creature a bad turn if’n I can’t do ’im a good ’un!’
Song smiled at the huge spiky beast. ‘You’re a fine an’ rare creature, mister Soll!’
* * *
20
Mokkan was up to his usual tricks. As dusk fell, the Marlfox had ordered his crew to put in to shore and make camp, and now he sat in the branches of an elm listening to his water rats talking as they huddled in the lee of their logboat on the riverbank. From his tether in the stern of the vessel, Fenno was urging them to desertion or mutiny.
‘Lissen, mates, now’s yer chance, while Mokkan’s away scoutin’ downriver. Make a break fer it whilst yer still can, mates!’
A rat named Gorm stared dully at the shrew. ‘W
e ain’t yore mates, so shut yer trap.’
Fenno ignored him and carried on. ‘See wot ’appened today. One of you was bashed agin’ the rocks an’ drownded gettin’ over them rapids, the logboat was near wrecked an’ we were almost lost altogether. But did yore Marlfox worry about that, eh? Ho no! All ’e was thinkin’ of was that tapestry. Then Mokkan ’ad us breakin’ our backs ’eavin’ on those paddles to escape the vole crews. You there, I saw ’im whack you a belt wid ’is axe ’andle ter make you paddle faster. Wot sort of a leader is that, I ask yer?’
The rat he was addressing merely shrugged. ‘We serve the kin of the High Queen Silth. ’Tis no business of yores.’
Fenno curled his lip at the water rats scornfully. ‘Huh! ’Igh Queen Silth! Look at yerselves, soakin’ wet an’ wearied t’the limit, crouchin’ there on a damp bank widout a bite between yer or a fire to dry out by. You must all be crazy. D’yer think yore Queen cares the drop of a leaf about you lot?’
The rat called Gorm banged the side of the logboat to silence Fenno. ‘All yore fine talk’s doin’ you no good, Guosim. Don’t y’know that Marlfoxes are magic beasts? ’Twould do us no good at all tryin’ to run from them. Where would we go? No creature can escape the magic of Marlfoxes.’
Fenno strained against the thong which bound him to the boat. ‘Magic my whiskers! You water rats are really stupid!’
‘Not half as stupid as you, shrew.’
Fenno actually jumped with shock. Mokkan was standing behind him, holding aloft a whippy branch he had cut from the elm with his axe. The shrew covered his head with both paws, crouching in a ball as blows rained heavily on him.
‘Pain is the best teacher for stupid idiots. Marlfoxes are magic! Say it! Say it!’
‘Aggh! Yeeeagh! Marlfoxes are magic, sire! Yaaargh!’
Mokkan threw the broken branch savagely at Fenno’s head and kicked his sobbing prisoner brutally. ‘You’ve learned a valuable lesson, oaf. We’ve got all night – shall I cut myself another switch to remind you of it, eh?’
Crouching in the damp logboat bottom, Fenno wept brokenly. ‘Mercy, sire, please. Marlfoxes are magic! I won’t forget, sire!’
Mokkan lost interest in his captive. Turning to Gorm, he said, ‘Break out supplies and light a small fire. Keep it sheltered in the lee of the boat and don’t let it smoke.’
The water rat bowed. ‘It shall be done as y’say, sire.’
Mokkan stroked the intricately embroidered tapestry roll. ‘Keep this dry and in perfect condition. High Queen Silth would be angry if it were damaged.’
Queen Silth was distracting herself by paying the slaves a visit. As her palanquin was borne out to the rear courtyard she made small mewling noises of disgust as she watched the steaming mess of porridge made from maize and chopped roots being delivered to the bars of the pen. Hungrily the starving slaves grabbed pawfuls and gulped it down. Ullig cracked his whip and snarled, ‘Be still in the presence of her Majesty, High Queen Silth!’
Immediately they quit feeding and huddled together in the darkness of the pen’s back wall. Alarmed by the moody and unpredictable Queen’s visit, they did not know what to expect. Athrak and his magpies strutted about in front of the bars, their wicked, beady eyes watching the pitiful prisoners. Rat guards stood stiffly at attention, the odd quiver of a spear denoting that they were as apprehensive as the slaves at Silth’s unexpected appearance. All eyes were on the silk-draped conveyance. Servants hurried to place torches and lanterns all around the palanquin. The stillness was ominous, as if every creature present was afraid to breathe. Nothing moved in the awful silence except for the eerie dancing shadows cast by the flickering torches. Harsh and grating, the High Queen’s voice rasped out from behind the silken veils.
‘Are they working hard for the food we give them?’
Ullig, the rat Captain in charge of all slaves, replied stiffly, ‘Yes, yer Majesty. Some in the fields’n’orchards an’ others in yore workplace makin’ things of beauty to grace yore chambers!’
There was a further silence, then Silth spoke once more. ‘Hmm. Don’t let them get fat and lazy, Captain. Remind them of the rules on my island.’
Ullig faced the cages and shouted out the rules, veins bulging from his thick neck as he did so. ‘Work an’ you live, an’ remember there is no escape from ’ere! Disobey an’ you get fed t’ the Teeth o’ the Deeps. This is the rule of ’er Majesty, ’Igh Queen Silth. You stay alive only by ’er mercy!’
There was a short silence, then the voice from within the palanquin called out petulantly, ‘Take me back inside, to my chambers. I don’t like it out here, there’s only ugliness, nothing nice. I must be surrounded by beauty. Death will never visit where beauty reigns!’
Lifting the palanquin carefully, the bearers marched off with measured tread, halting suddenly as Silth screeched, ‘Stop! There it is, at the upper chamber windows! Don’t you see it, fools? The White Ghost! Captain, take a troop up there quickly and slay it. Hurry!’
Floating back and forth across the brightly lit window of an upper chamber, the fearful white apparition fluttered, howling.
‘Queeeeen Siiiiiilth, Dark Forest awaits your spirit. Death is all you have left now. Ooooooooohhhhhh!’
Ullig clattered off at the head of his troops, knowing that the spectre would be gone when he reached the room upstairs. It was not the first time something like this had occurred.
Lantur stowed the ‘White Ghost’ in its corner cupboard and poured two goblets of plum wine. Sliding one across to the rat Wilce, the Marlfox smiled maliciously, listening to the guards hastening up the stairs.
‘She’ll have frightened herself to death by winter, Wilce, and then we’ll prepare a deadly reception for my returning brothers and sisters. Give me a toast, Wilce!’
The female water rat nodded over the rim of her goblet. ‘To High Queen Lantur, next ruler of this island and all the lake surrounding it. Long life and undisturbed sleep!’
Lantur quaffed her goblet’s contents. ‘Aye, I’ll drink to that. After all, who could disturb my sleep? The White Ghost?’
Wilce topped up Lantur’s goblet from the wine flagon. ‘How could the White Ghost disturb my lady when ’twill be lying at the bottom of the lake, wrapped around ex-Queen Silth!’
‘Heehee! Pour yourself more wine, Wilce!’
Cregga stumped her way downstairs to find out what had been going on in her absence. The few days she had spent alone in her room had been irksome. Now recovered from her wounds, the blind badger was eager for company, longing to be part of the daily hum of Abbey life. Her tread was slow and sure, and she kept to one side of the stairs, using the wall as a guide. Every joint and crack of the ancient red sandstone, each paw-worn stair with its own small dip or hollow, the Badgermum knew well. Redwall Abbey was her home, and she loved it so much that she felt every stone of it was part of her.
Reaching Great Hall, Cregga’s sharp instincts told her things were not as they should be. She knew it was night time, and there were always Redwallers about this late in the evening. But now there was a hushed silence over everything. Moreover, her senses told her that candles and lanterns aplenty were lit, for she could feel their presence, the slight warmth, a guttering flicker, the odd drip of melted beeswax from a brimming sconce, the fragrant odour of pine resin. All was not right.
Moving silently into what she knew was the shadow of a thick stone column at the edge of the hall, the big badger felt about until her paw rested on the long pole of a brass-cupped candle-snuffer. Grasping it tight, she called out, ‘Who’s there? Speak if you know what’s good for ye. I don’t like creatures sneakin’ about around me!’
From somewhere out at the hall’s centre, a voice she identified as Friar Butty’s whispered, ‘One, two, three . . . Now!’
Music burst out everywhere, fifes, drums, and all manner of stringed instruments, with massed voices singing in harmony.
‘Midsummer midsummer the solstice is here,
And now we give thanks to t
he day,
We joyfully sing like the birds on the wing,
For old winter is still far away.
The high sun of noontide smiles down on us all,
Sending warmth to the earth from on high,
Soon the autumn will yield, out in orchard and field,
Where the bounties of nature do lie.
Midsummer midsummer the solstice is now,
In the midst of this season so bright,
Yea we sing, aye we sing, hear our glad voices ring,
Far into this fine summer night.’
Dwopple and Blinny the molebabe dashed forward. Seizing Cregga’s huge paws, they tugged her towards the feasting tables.
‘Heehee! We frykkened you, Badgermum, but then us singed nice for ya!’
‘Bo urr, marm, do ee cumm now, we’m got gurt ’eaps o’ vittles furr ee, an’ you’m can stay up late with us’n’s!’
The blind badger allowed herself to be led to the festive table. Seating herself in the big Abbot’s chair, she took both Dibbuns on her lap, joking with the little creatures. ‘I must say, you did frighten me dreadfully, but that lovely song made me feel lots better. Thank you! Can we really stay up late tonight? Then I’ll behave meself an’ be extra good. Mmm, I smell blueberry an’ almond turnovers. Pass me the dish, please. I’m so hungry I think I’ll eat ’em all!’
Dwopple shook his spoon severely at the massive old badger. ’Tch tch! Thort you said y’was gonna be’ave. Friar Butty send y’back up to bed if you naughty!’
Outside the night was still, the day’s heat still radiating from the sunwarmed stones of the walltop. A half-moon stood clear in endless plains of dark velvet sky. At the centre of the south rampart, Bargle stood talking to the shrew Mayon, on reluctant guard duty.
‘Wot d’yer think the chances are of Florian an’ his patrol comin’ up ’ere to relieve us, so’s we can get to the feast?’
Bargle shook his head at Mayon’s simple and trusting nature. ‘You got more chance o’ sproutin’ wings an’ flutterin’ away like a butterfly, matey! Imagine ole Florian an’ Skipper pushin’ woodland trifle down their faces, then sayin’ all of a sudden like, “Better ’urry up, we got to go an’ relieve the wallguards!”’
Marlfox (Redwall) Page 20
