Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Reluctantly the two friends climbed into the cart, plumping themselves on the cushions that had been placed on the seats specially for them.

  ‘But why must we go now – it’s barely dawn?’ Abbess Vale shook her head.

  Tudd Spinney opened the main gate and waved the cart out on to the path. ‘That’s the best time for violets ’n’ saxifrage, so I’m told. Off you goes now, gels. ’Ave a nice time!’

  Faith wagged a severe paw at her husband. ‘Tudd Spinney, you ol’ fibber. What’s got into you, sendin’ us off like this? I’m sure there’s lots of spry young uns who could pick plants better’n us two old creatures.’

  Thrugg jogged off south down the path through the mists of the rising dawn. ‘Aha, that’s where yore wrong, marm. ‘Ollyberry says them young uns don’t know lupins from lilacs. He says that you an’ the Abbess ’ave the beauty of experience.’

  Mightily flattered, Abbess Vale arched her neck and fluttered her eyelids. ‘Hollyberry isn’t given to untruths, Faith. He could be right!’

  Behind them, Tudd Spinney slammed the door and hobbled across the lawn, waving his stick. ‘Stir yore stumps now, good Redwallers. They’ve gone. Let’s get busy!’

  The sun heralded the day, palely at first but gradually bursting through into a heavy golden autumn radiance. Faith Spinney looked up at the dark evergreens and golden brown leaves turning crisp on the boughs, the dappling patterns of light and shade through the foliage making her blink as they trundled along.

  ‘Oh well, we’ve got a fair ’n’ pretty day for whatever it is we’re supposed to be a-doin’ of, Vale.’

  The Abbess folded her paws into the wide habit sleeves. ‘Violets and saxifrage, my paw! There’s something going on back at Redwall, or I’m a frog. Isn’t that right, Thrugg?’

  ‘Don’t croak too loud, marm. Saint Ninian’s is a fair ol’ way yet. Why don’t you two ladies ’ave a nap and catch up on yore sleep. I’ll tip ye the word when we gets there.’

  The logboats had been pulled ashore at the nearest point MacPhearsome could manage; now the rest of the journey was mainly a good stout march through woodland. They ate supper and slept through the early evening on the banks of the stream.

  Two hour after midnight, Log-a-log had disguised the five boats with branches and fern for safe keeping. He roused them and they broke camp. Lighting lanterns, they struck off into the depths of Mossflower. Samkim and Arula led, watching the dark shape of MacPhearsome whenever it could be seen above the treetops.

  Arula drew in a deep breath. ‘Booharr, smell ’at, Sanken. ’Tis loiken the smell of ’ome!’

  Samkim sniffed gratefully. ‘I know what you mean, Arula.’

  Mara plucked a sycamore leaf, peering hard into the woodland. ‘Trees, Pikkle – I’ve never seen so many trees. It’s so silent and peaceful too, not hot and bare and sandy like the shore by Salamandastron. I could grow to like these woods.’

  ‘I could grow t’ like any place where there’s a scrap of tucker about, old gel. It’s bally ages since we had supper, I’m starvin’.’

  In the same hour of dawn that the cart left Redwall, the travellers emerged from the woods on to the path. Though the going was easier, there were many who were weary from marching all night. The irrepressible Pikkle kept everybeast going by improvising a silly ditty.

  ‘I’d give my left ear an’ raise a cheer

  For a plate of woodland pie,

  And as for a pudden, if it was a good un,

  I’d give my best right eye.

  I’d give a paw to get my jaw

  Around a fat fruitcake.

  For a dumplin’ stew, my tail could go too.

  I mean, for goodness sake,

  If I saw a pastie, I wouldn’t get nasty

  I’d trade it for my nose.

  And if I couldn’t smell, I’d just say “Well,

  I’d rather have one of those.”

  So take my heart and leave me that tart,

  But my mouth I won’t take off,

  Because, I plead, it’s a mouth I’ll need

  To eat all that bally scoff!’

  The burgeoning sunlight lifted flagging spirits, they stepped out with a will, the golden eagle flying low in front of them as they chanted aloud.

  ‘Redwall! Log-a-log! Redwall! Guosssom! Redwall! Log-a-log! Redwall! Guosssom!’

  Abbess Vale rubbed her eyes and looked about suspiciously. It was mid-morning and they were still bumping along the dusty brown path in the cart. She rapped on the side sharply.

  ‘Thrugg, where are you taking us? I haven’t been this far for seasons, but I recognize the country. We’re well past Saint Ninian’s!’

  Thrugg muttered something unintelligible under his breath and quickened his pace. Faith Spinney awakened suddenly.

  ‘Eh, what’s that, m’dear? What’s a Log-a-log?’

  The jolting of the cart was not doing much for Vale’s mood. ‘Log-a-log? I never said anything about a Log-a-log. What are you chunnering on about, Faith Spinney?’

  Faith held up a paw. ‘Stop, please, Mr Thrugg. Sssshh, listen!’

  Thrugg halted the cart. All three creatures listened carefully. On the still morning air the sound drifted up to them from further down beyond a bend in the path.

  ‘Redwall! Log-a-log! Redwall! Guosssom!’

  Slow to catch on, Faith Spinney shook her head. ‘What sort of beast d’you reckon a Gossen is, Vale? Who’s making all that noise, anyway?’

  A large smile was spreading across the Abbess’s face. She leaned over and patted Thrugg on the back. ‘It’s Arula and Samkim, I know it is. Forward with all speed, Thrugg. Charge!’

  As they rounded the bend, Samkim saw the cloud of dust approaching and heard the rattle of the cart.

  Ever vigilant, Log-a-log yelled out to his shrews, ‘Bows and slings ready, somebeast is coming this way fast!’

  But Samkim and Arula had recognized Thrugg and the occupants of the cart, who were standing up, cloaks flying in the breeze. ‘It’s the Abbess and Mrs Spinney and Thrugg! Good old Thrugg! Come on Arula!’

  They dashed off towards the oncoming cart, Faith Spinney could be heard crying shrilly, ‘Oh, my dears, it’s Samkim an’ Arula! Oh, my spikes! Oh, those young rascals! Oh, see them, Vale, see them. An’ young Master Samkim a-wavin’ that great sword aloft! My life an’ great acorns! ’Tis the sword of Martin! Look, he’s brought it back to us!’

  Everybeast cheered wildly and tears sprang unbidden to the eyes of Abbess Vale at the sight of the young squirrel, now a fully fledged warrior wielding the great blade in the sunlight.

  Thrugg made the little cart bounce and leap from the path as he dashed at top speed, laughing wildly. ‘Haharr haharr, I knew it were you two young villains. Samkim! Arula! It’s me yer old matey Thruggo!’

  Arula made the dust fairly fly as she pounded along the path. ‘Habbess, marm! Missus Spinnsey! ’Tis oi, ’Rula the moleymaid!’

  Laughing, weeping, gasping for breath, they met in a rush.

  For one so old and frail, the Abbess turned out to be a mighty hugger. She clutched Samkim, completely winding him as she yelled down his ear, ‘Samkim, Samkim. I knew you’d come back someday!’

  Faith Spinney was kissing Arula and boxing her ears at the same time. ‘Oh, you liddle rip. Welcome back, m’dear! Now don’t you ever stray from that Abbey again, d’you ‘ear me!’

  Thrugg wiped the dust from his face and patted their backs heftily. ‘Yore a sight fer otter’s eyes, young uns! I’ll wager you’ve some good ol’ tales an’ yarns to spin about adventures an’ travels!’

  The Abbess had managed to compose herself. She placed her paws around Samkim and Arula, protecting them from the curious Redwallers. ‘There will be ample time for the telling of tales later. Perhaps we’d better greet all these new guests they’ve brought to our Abbey.’

  Mara had purposefully fallen to the back of the crowd. Slightly embarrassed and unsure of herself, she listened to the Abbey ladies as they met the othe
rs.

  ‘So good to meet you, Mr Log-a-log, and you, Mr Alfoh. Thank you for bringing our young ones safely back to us. Oh dear, there are such a lot of you and we haven’t prepared anything, but you are welcome to come back to Redwall Abbey with us, all of you. Samkim, Arula, will you lead these good creatures to Redwall, please. I’m sure you’ll excuse us, Mrs Spinney and I have to get back before you and see what we can arrange in the way of lunch. Thrugg, turn this cart round and get us back to the Abbey with all speed! Faith, don’t stand there fussing, get in the cart – quickly!’

  The shrews set up a mighty cheer as Thrugg galloped off up the path, towing the cart behind him.

  Early noon saw the Guosssom outside the Abbey gate. They met with a very embarrassed Abbess and Faith, who were sitting resignedly in the cart. Abbess Vale threw up her paws in despair.

  ‘We’re locked out, Samkim. We’ve banged, yelled and shouted but nobeast answers. Thrugg has gone round to the back wall to see if he can climb over somehow.’

  Faith Spinney threw her apron over her face. ‘Oh, the shame of it, m’dears. Locked out of our own Abbey, and here you all are without a welcome, dusty an’ hungered!’

  ‘Excuse me, but may I be of help?’

  Abbess Vale looked up into the deep brown eyes of a beautiful young badger maid. She was completely taken aback. ‘Oh, Samkim! Oh, why didn’t you tell me?’

  The badger maid patted the Abbess’s paw lightly. ‘My name is Mara.’

  ‘Mara – a good name for such a lovely creature.’ Vale clasped the badger maid’s paw tightly. ‘Yes, I am sure you could be of help, Mara.’

  Striding slowly over to the gateway door, Mara raised her paw and dealt it a flat blow. The sound boomed out as she called, ‘Open these gates in the name of your Abbess!’

  Immediately the hinges creaked as the gateway door swung open.

  It was a joyous shock. Every creature in the Abbey crowded on to the lawn in front of the main entrance, cheering them to the echo. Faith and Abbess Vale were bewildered until Thrugg stepped forward and bowed.

  ‘Forgive our liddle surprise, ladies. They let me in by the north wallgate. King MacPhearsome has been watchin’ Samkim’s approach for the past three days. No need t’ worry yore ’eads, just step this way, if y’ please!’

  Samkim and Arula were borne shoulder-high, and the young squirrel waving Martin’s sword cheered as loudly as anybeast. Paw in paw, Mara and the Abbess headed the procession.

  In the centre of the orchard a feast had been laid out.

  Pikkle gazed at it in open-mouthed delight. ‘Well, flop my ears! I’ve heard of tucker, but I never thought I’d live to see such a bally spread as this!’

  Dumble appeared from beneath a table, his high northland accent forgotten as he clung to the Abbess’s robe, staring around at the army of strange shrews.

  ‘It’s a Nameday, Muvva. Wot we gunna call it?’

  The Abbess looked fondly at Mara and Pikkle standing next to Arula and Samkim.

  ‘The Autumn of the Homecomers. What else could we call it?’

  43

  The Feast of the Autumn of the Homecomers was an event long to be remembered in the annals of Redwall Abbey. For the first time in many long seasons the big badger’s chair that had remained empty for so long had a badger sitting in it: Mara, Guardian of Redwall.

  Friar Bellows, clad in a smart new white apron and cook’s hat, stood ladle in paw on top of a barrel of cowslip cordial where all present could see him. The fat mouse coughed importantly.

  ‘Er, ahem, ahem! Your attention please, friends. Very good, very good! Now, er, as most of you are new guests to our Nameday table, the Abbess has asked me to say a word or two.’

  Vale chuckled quietly as she whispered to Alfoh, ‘I never asked Bellows to say anything, but he will!’

  The Redwall Friar continued his speech, warming to the subject. ‘It is indeed unusual to see such visitors joining us. I’ve never catered for a royal golden eagle, four falcons, a badger and a veritable army of shrews, to say nothing of a hare—’

  ‘I never told you to say nothing of me, old chap,’ Pikkle chipped in.

  Bellows shot him a glare. ‘Er, quite, very good. Where was I? Ah yes. Welcome to Redwall – our Abbey is yours. Join us in good cheer upon this happy day. Eat, be merry and enjoy the bounty of the season, though I don’t know whether our food will suit you all as my helpers and I have never had to feed such a strange assembly. Yes, very good!’

  Droony ducked his head beneath the tablecloth and called out, ‘Hurr, then give you’m jaw a rest an’ let ’em try ’ee vittles!’

  There was a general roar of laughter. Amid the jollity, Mara stood up and rescued the red-faced Friar.

  ‘I am sure the food will suit us all, Friar Bellows. It looks too good for words. The fame of you and your kitchen staff is a legend throughout Mossflower. We intend to do this feast full justice. Abbess, I believe it is customary for you to say grace at these occasions. Would you be so kind?’

  Abbess Vale recited the Abbey grace as they all bowed their heads.

  ‘Squirrels, otters, hedgehogs, mice,

  Moles with fur like sable,

  Gathered in good spirits all,

  Round the festive table.

  Sit we down to eat and drink.

  Friends, before we do, let’s think,

  Fruit of forest, field and banks,

  To the seasons we give thanks.’

  Amid a clatter of bowls and spoons, the feast began. Tables had been joined together to form a large cross shape, and there were five centrepieces. A Redwall jubilee trifle of pears, damsons, greensap cream and hazelnut truffle was on the north end. Opposite at the south trestle stood a magnificent blackcurrant pudding, swimming in a peach-covered cream of whisked beechnut and strawberry topped off with a sugar-preserved sprig of maple. The east side was graced by a high wobbling redcurrant jelly with flaked almond and chestnut suspended inside like a sunset snowstorm, and it was wreathed in yellow-piped meadowcream. At the west board was a golden honey-crusted confection of latticed pastry with mintcream and candied chestnuts oozing from it on to a bed of purple plums. In the centre stood a wide diamond of sweet arrowroot shortcake with all the fruits of the summer piled on it, fixed there by stiff comb honey blended with a purée of apple and raspberry. Salads of ten different kinds ranged amid the wedges of white, yellow and beige cheeses, studded with nuts, herbs and celery. Oatfarls, cottage loaves and batons of ryebread, all hot from the ovens with their crusts gleaming brown, lay scattered between vegetable flans, shrimp and hotroot soup and massive deeper ’n’ ever turnip ’n’ tater ’n’ beetroot pies beloved by moles. Redcurrant tarts, bilberry scones, plumcakes, latticed apple pies, strawberry flans and damson puddings radiated out into patterns, dotted by bowls of nutcream, meadowcream, Abbeycream, rosecream and buttercup fondant. Pitchers, flagons and jugs overflowing with October ale, strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock, berry wine and cowslip cordial jostled for position amidst bowls of warm scented rosewater and embroidered napkins standing by for sticky paws.

  ‘Hey, Nordo, what do you think of our shrimp an’ hotroot soup, matey?

  ‘Whooh! It’s hot! Pass the October ale, please.’

  ‘Yurr, you’m sample some o’ ’ee deeper ’n’ ever pie, zurr heagle.’

  ‘Och, as soon as Ah get mah beak free o’ this trifle, laddie.’

  ‘Righto, Dumble me old scout, load in the cheese an’ salad. Now you start at this side of the loaf and I’ll start at the other side. That’s the ticket – meet you in the middle, wot?’

  ‘D’you likes ches’nut an’ celery cheese, Mr Log-a-log? Just try a piece atop of yore vegetable flan.’

  ‘Mmm! It was worth paddling all that way for, Mr Spinney – and I think I’ll dream of your October ale for the rest of my life. Alfoh, what’s that you’re eating?’

  ‘Bilberry scone with meadowcream. The Friar’s going to give me the recipe – very civilized indeed. Now then, young mo
le, don’t fall into that deeper pie thing.’

  ‘Hurr hurr, zurr. That be the bestest part, fallen in ’ee pie, then oi c’n eat moi ways out o’ et!’

  ‘Oh, look out, Thrugann and Brother Hollyberry have started a shrimp-and-hotroot-soup-eating competition. Just look at that pepper they’re putting into it!’

  ‘I say, chaps, any room for another jolly old contestant?’

  ‘Steady on, Pikkle Ffolger. You’re in the middle of a pie-eatin’ contest with me.’

  ‘Haha, so I am, Tubbyguts old lad. Hold the soup – I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve dealt with this Guosssom glutton.’

  ‘Ach, yon skinny lang-legged laddie is a braw scoffer. Ah’d hate him tae visit mah nest for a season. Pass some o’ those candied chestnuts, will ye, Tammbeak.’

  ‘Awa’, yer no doin’ sae bad yersel’ for an injured falcon, if ye’d tak’ yer beak out o’ yon trifle an’ look at yersel’, Rocangus!’

  The son of Laird Mactalon did take his beak out of the trifle long enough to rip away the dressing from his wing. He flexed it and gave a wild whoop. ‘Kaahey! Mah wing’s workin’ again. Thrugg, yer a bonny riverdog!’

  Immediately he was in the air, circling and soaring around the high spire and redstone turrets of the Abbey. Wheeling out, he swooped down and glided majestically over the heads of the revellers in the orchard as they cheered and hurrahed.

  Abbess Vale smiled contentedly at her old friend. ‘My my, Faith, they are enjoying themselves. I do hope we don’t run short of anything.’

  ‘Humph!’ Friar Bellows leaned over between them. ‘Short, did you say? You should see the supper spread I’ve laid out in Great Hall – it would feed an army through a hard winter.’

  Mara shook the fat mouse solemnly by the paw. ‘Thank you, Friar Bellows, you have done our Abbey proud.’

  Abbess Vale smiled as she grasped the badger maid’s paw.

  ‘Did you hear that, Samkim? She said “Our Abbey”. Do you think she will stay here as Guardian?’