Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  Skipper nodded after Maudie and Orkwil as they made their way across the lawn. “Where are those two goin’, Benj?”

  The Cellarhog sat down on the top step. “Orkwil’s takin’ Maudie to see the badger, she was sent from the Salamandastron mountain to find him.”

  Skipper watched the two entering the Abbey. “But Gorath didn’t come from the badger mountain. I wonder how ole Lord Asheye guessed Gorath was here?”

  Benjo took a sip from his tankard of October Ale. “Well ye may ask, Skip, Salamandastron’s a mysterious place, plain, ord’nary beasts like us’ll never fathom it.”

  As the pair made their way to the sickbay, Orkwil explained briefly how he was banished from the Abbey, and how he came to meet Gorath. After listening to his narration, the haremaid smiled ruefully. “Hmm, your tale isn’t too far different from mine, old chap. We both came here pursued by foebeasts, eh!”

  The young hedgehog winked at Maudie. “Aye, so we did, but what were you banished from Salamandastron for, were you a thief like me?”

  Totally unprepared, Maudie blurted out, “Most certainly not! It was for fightin’, actually, all I did was biff Corporal Thwurl an’ a few other bods. But how did you jolly well know they were goin’ to banish me, wot?”

  Orkwil opened the infirmary door quietly. “Oh, it was just somethin’ about you, a bit like me, I s’pose. Gorath’s in the small back room.”

  Maudie gazed awestruck at the sleeping badger stretched out on the big bed. “Corks! He’s bigger’n old Lord Asheye, though he looks a bit thin’ an’ wasted, is he ill?”

  Orkwil touched Gorath’s massive paw gently. “He’s been through a lot. A lesser beast would’ve died from the treatment he received from those Sea Raiders.”

  Gorath’s eyes came open, he struggled weakly to sit up. “Sea Raiders, where are they?”

  Orkwil sat on the bed, pressing him back down. “Calm yoreself, mate, there hasn’t been hide nor hair of those rascals seen anywhere around. At the moment we’re more concerned about a horde of Brownrats outside the south wall. Listen now, there’s someone I want ye to meet.”

  Maudie proffered her paw, introducing herself. “Maudie Mugsberry Thropple of Salamandastron, sah. I was sent to seek you out by Lord Asheye.”

  Gorath paused a moment. “Asheye, is that’s his name? An old badger, completely gray all over, I’ve seen him in my dreams a few times. What does he want with me?”

  The haremaid seated herself on the end of the bed. “Er, I’m not quite flippin’ sure, sah. He said I was to observe you, probably has thoughts of me bringin’ you back to Salamandastron.”

  Gorath interrupted her, the old fire seeming to smoulder in his eyes. “Not until Vizka Longtooth is dead by my paw! Orkwil, go and warn your Abbey friends, those vermin are somewhere near, waiting to attack Redwall. Bring me Tung, give me my weapon….” Again he tried to rise, but Maudie and Orkwil held him down.

  Sister Atrata appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here, this creature is ill, he needs rest. You must leave immediately!” The Sister took a small bowl from the bedside table. Supporting Gorath’s head, she raised it to his lips. “Drink some of this, friend, it will help you get well.”

  The badger took a long, thirsty draught and lay back. His eyelids fluttered, and he gave a deep sigh. Then he began murmuring as though thinking aloud. “Never saw them coming…no chance at all…have to bury the old ones…build a new dwelling…all gone now, home, kinbeasts…Getting cold now, so cold these Northern Isles…Ice, snow…Crops ruined again…Poorbeasts, poorbeasts…buried in Northern earth…So cold…So cold!”

  Gorath began trembling and shuddering then. His great, wasted body arched against the bed, paws tightly clasped as his teeth rattled aloud. The pitchfork, Tung, which had been laid next to him, clattered to the floor.

  Sister Atrata acted quickly, pouring more liquid from the bowl between her patient’s clenched teeth as she snapped out orders at the two visitors. “You, miss, bring blankets from the big chest in the next room. Prink, get hold of Marja Dubbidge, tell her to get a fire lit up here. Look sharp now, both of you, your friend is in a fever!”

  Orkwil scurried off to find Marja, the Bellringer. Maudie located the big chest, and pulled fleecy woven blankets from it as she murmured to herself, “Hope the Sis knows what she’s doin’. Imagine me havin’ t’go back empty-pawed to His Lordship. What would one say? Sorry, sah, I found the badger who carries the flame, but I bloomin’ well lost him. Huh, Major Mull’d have my hide!”

  Stumbling over a heap of bedlinen and blankets, the haremaid tottered in to Sister Atrata. “Will that be enough, marm, d’you want me to fetch more, is he goin’ to be alright, hadn’t you better give him another dose of that jollop from the bowl, wot?”

  The good Sister treated Maudie to a strict glare. “I’ll do all in my power to help him, miz, but please don’t start telling me how to do my job. Here, take a corner of this blanket, and help me to cover him.”

  The haremaid was tucking the blanket about Gorath’s shoulders when she noticed the extent, the depth of the flame-shaped scar on his brow. “Great blinkin’ seasons, what an awful wound, I saw it when I first got here, but I didn’t realise just how jolly big it was, ’til I got up close!”

  Sister Atrata nodded. “Yes, I’m just hoping it doesn’t affect his recovery, but who knows?”

  Maudie stared down at the awesome wound. “Hmm, there used to be an old hare in the veterans’ barracks. Got a big rock broken over his head in the vermin wars. Funny old chap, used to sing songs in a language nobeast could understand. They reckon the bang he got from the rock sent him clear off his chump. Beg pardon, marm, made him act strangely.”

  The Sister lowered her eyes. “I understand, things like that have been known to happen. Though I don’t think this badger will lose his mind, he’s too fixed by one purpose, to avenge the death of his family.”

  Maudie gazed out of the window, watching the first pale streaks of dawn illuminating the night sky. “Sounds just like a badger to me, Sister.”

  24

  Larks rose from the flatlands, twittering in the newborn summer morn at the misty blue sky, which promised a long, sunny day. It would have been an idyllic scene, except for two things, a horde of Brownrats in the southern woodland fringe, and a crew of vermin Sea Raiders to the north of the Abbey.

  Vizka Longtooth had left the bulk of his creatures under cover, bringing twoscore along with him. They headed down the ditch to Redwall, ready to begin tunnelling operations. The crew he had chosen were not too happy with the scheme, but they kept silent, knowing the golden fox was only waiting on one protestor, to make an example of. Once the Abbey was in sight, they crouched low, approaching it with extreme caution. Vizka halted them when he was level with the main gates, and started issuing orders. “I t’ink we start tunnellin’ right here, see.” He scratched an X into the ditch wall. “Wot d’ya say, Undril, a gudd place, eh?”

  Undril was a large, dull-witted weasel, whom Vizka had chosen to be in charge of the digging. He looked at the mark his captain had made, nodding. “If’n ya says so, Cap’n.”

  The golden fox gave his crew the benefit of a quick, dangerous smile. “Oh, I says so, ya can take me word on it. Now git diggin’, all of ya!”

  Without any proper tools they went to work, gouging at the soil with spear, sword and dagger points. Vizka toyed with his mace and chain, watching their clumsy attempts, whilst trying to keep his temper in check. He realised it was going to be a long, slow task, requiring a bit of patience, something Vizka was not used to. Already he was feeling irate.

  “Dere’s too many diggin’ at once, yer gettin’ nowheres. Undril, split ’em ina two groups. Firty, you’n Gerna go further down dis ditch, try der soil an’ see if’n ’twould be easier ter dig a tunnel dere.”

  Firty and Gerna were both small and puny rats. Glad to be relieved of labouring, they scuttled off south, down the ditchbed. Vizka continued supervising the work. “Jungo, wot d’y
a t’ink yore doin’?”

  Jungo, the least intelligent of all the Bludgullet’s crew, pointed to the shallow depression they had made. “Huh huh, me spear keeps bouncin’ back when I tries ter dig wid it, Cap’n.”

  Vizka explained, as though he were talking to a babe, “Dat’s ’cos dere’s a root in der way. Bilger, yew ’old der root, while Jungo cuts it wid ’is spearblade.” The golden fox watched the proceedings, with a sense of hopelessness weighing upon him.

  “Yowch! Der cap’n said cut der root, loaf’ead, not me paw. Ow! See, ya dun it again!”

  “Huh huh, sorry, mate, yore paw’s all full o’ soil, I thought it wuz der root!”

  Gruntan Kurdly had finally arrived at the south woodland fringe. His weary bearers set the stretcher down as he cast a scathing eye over his horde. He beckoned Biklo to his side. “Where’s all the sh’ews got to?”

  The scout, Biklo, nodded in the direction of the Abbey. “In there, Boss.”

  Assisted by two bearers, Gruntan wheezed his way to the edge of the trees. He had seen Redwall Abbey before, but not this close up; he tried not to look impressed. “Hmm, are the six liddle boats in there, too?”

  Biklo shrugged. “Dunno.”

  For a rat of his size and bulk, Gruntan could move quite rapidly. He rushed Biklo, felling him with a kick. Standing over the fallen Brownrat, he made a pantomime of shrugging, and aping the scout’s voice. “Dunno? Dunno?” Gruntan kicked him again, shouting, “Well, ye’d better get t’know, mudbrains!” He turned on Stringle, his leading officer. “Can’t I leave ye alone fer a moment? Ye let the sh’ews git away, now they’re in that place. Well, did ye try ter get ’em out, or did ye jus’ sit on yore tails all night, waitin’ fer me to do it for ye?”

  Stringle nipped smartly out of kicking range. “We killed their chief, that Log a Lug sh’ew. They ran an’ hid in Redwall. It wuz too hard t’get ’em out, we charged, but they beat us back. Not jus’ sh’ews in there, Boss, they got streamdogs, ’edgepigs, treemouses, loads of ’em. Six of ours was slayed, an’ more’n ten injured!”

  Gruntan eyed the south ramparts sourly. “An’ ye reckon they’ve got the place well guarded.”

  Stringle looked grim. “Nobeast could take Redwall!”

  Gruntan’s stomach wobbled as he gave a mirthless laugh. “Who told ye that? You lissen t’me, mate, there’s more ways of killin’ a mouse than tellin’ it jokes until it dies laughin’.”

  Stringle scratched his tail. “Wot d’yer mean, Boss?”

  Gruntan Kurdly was not prepared to give Stringle explanations, he waved a paw dismissively. “You go an’ stay with the horde, tell the cooks to git my brekkist ready. Oh, an’ ye’d best send out some scouts to take a look round that Abbey. May’aps one of ’em might ’ave the sense to find a way in.” Gruntan continued to stare up at the Abbey walls, bright new prospects opening up before him. “Redwall, eh, now that’s a place where I could be a real boss. Hah, wouldn’t need no liddle boats then, I’d stop all me rovin’ about. Oh aye, sittin’ in a big, comfy chair, by a nice, warm fire on rainy days, Jus’ givin’ orders, an’ eatin’ vittles. Haharr, that’ll be the life fer Gruntan Kurdly!”

  Stringle dispatched eight scouts to sound out the perimeter of the Abbey. Two female Brownrats, Tantail and Dirril, were alloted to the west wall. Not wanting to walk along the path, which ran in front of the main gates, they chose to inspect the Abbey from the ditch. Ducking their heads, to avoid being seen from the walltops, the two Brownrats marched along the dry ditchbed, straight into Firty and Gerna. Unaware that they had company, both crewrats were digging into the ditchside, just as Vizka had ordered, trying to find a better tunnelling site. The Brownrats watched them in silence, until Firty stopped to mop a grimy paw across his brow. He turned and saw them, bringing his spearpoint to bear on the two big females, who stood head and shoulders over him and Gerna.

  “Who are ya, an’ worrya doin’ ’ere?”

  Dirril promptly kicked him in the stomach and wrenched the spear from his grasp. She pointed the weapon toward the Abbey. “Are you from in there?”

  Gerna had been digging with his knife, and a sharpened stick. He looked up at the much larger Brownrats, gesturing uncertainly up the ditch with his blade. “Ya better not try anythin’ wid us, we’re wid Vizka Longtooth, an’ he’s cap’n of a big crew, see!”

  Tantail advanced on him menacingly. “If’n ye don’t come from inside o’ that Abbey, we don’t give a tailflick who y’are, ’cos we’re part of Gruntan Kurdly’s horde. Now give me dat blade!”

  Gerna was scared, his voice trembled as he spoke. “No, I won’t, dis is my knife.”

  With a swift move, Tantail knocked the knife from Gerna’s paw. Grabbing the smaller rat by his ears, she began pummelling him soundly. “Ye liddle snit, I’ll teach ye to wave a knife at me!”

  Firty protested as he tried to rise. “Yew leave ’im alone, wait’ll Cap’n Vizka ’ears about dis. Git ya paws off ’im!”

  All that this earned the unfortunate Firty was a severe beating from his own spearhaft. Both the Brownrats set about their victims, sniggering cruelly. “Cap’n Vizka, eh? Heehee, you’ve got us really frightened now, mate, he sounds a real terror, does Cap’n Vizka!”

  Tantail had Gerna in a headlock, punctuating her remarks with stinging punches and slaps. “Never even heard of ’im. Lissen, snotnose, when ye get back to this Vizka idjit, tell ’im ye met up with two o’ Gruntan Kurdly’s Brownrats!”

  Dirril had already broken the spearhaft over Firty’s back, but she continued belabouring the helpless crewrat with the bottom half of it. “Take this message to yore cap’n. Tell ’im to run for ’is life, ’cos Kurdly’s horde is here now!”

  Back up at the start of the main excavation, Vizka Longtooth was in a calmer mood. The hole in the ditchside was actually beginning to take shape. It was almost the length of a stoat’s body. He could tell this because there was a stoat digging in the hole, and just his tail was visible. He was working in there with a weasel, scrabbling out earth, which was being carried off and dumped by the rest of the team. The golden fox was sunning himself on the far ditch-wall when Firty and Gerna staggered up. Nursing various injuries, the pair gasped out their report.

  “Cap’n, we wuz attacked an’ set on!”

  “Dey jumped us an’ battered us sumthin’ fierce, Cap’n!”

  Vizka held up a paw and they both fell silent. “Now, gimme straight answers! Who did this, Firty?”

  The small crewrat was nursing a torn ear, he spat out a tooth before speaking. “Two big, brown ratwives I t’ink dey wuz, Cap’n!”

  The workers had stopped to hear what was going on. When Firty said that he and Gerna had been beaten up by a pair of ratwives, they chuckled aloud. Vizka silenced them with a single glance. “Did ya tell ’em you wuz Vizka Longtooth’s Sea Raiders?”

  Clutching a broken tail, and squinting through a badly swollen eye, Gerna answered. “Aye, Cap’n we told ’em, but der one who was knockin’ me round called me snotty nose, an’ guess wot she said?”

  Vizka shook his head. “I can’t guess, so tell me.”

  Gerna told him, word for word. “She said, when ye gets back ter dis Vizka idjit, tell ’im ye met up wid two o’ Gruntan Kurlie’s Brownrats. Dat’s wot she said!”

  The golden fox picked up his mace and chain, addressing the twoscore vermin of the work detail. “Any of youse ever ’eard of a curly Brownrat?” There was a mass shaking of heads. Vizka began swinging his mace and chain, turning to Firty. “An’ where’d ya run into dese two big, tough ratwives?”

  Firty pointed. “Down der ditch a piece, jus’ past der bend, Cap’n.” As he spoke, the two Brownrats hove into view.

  Whirling his weapon, Vizka broke into a run. “Let’s gerrem! Chaaaarge!” Tantail and Dirril fled, with Vizka and twoscore of the Bludgullet’s crew hard on their tails.

  Granspike Niblo was alone on the west wall, she hailed the defenders on the south walltop, shouting and waving her pinafore.
“Skipper, hurry, there’s something goin’ on over here!”

  Skipper came bounding across, with Barbowla and an assortment of otters, Guosim shrews and Redwallers following him. “We ’eard some shoutin’ o’er there, marm, wot was it?”

  Granspike’s head only reached to just below the battlements. She stood on tip-paw, pointing. “Down there, in the ditch I think. Somebeast shoutin’ charge. I think it must’ve been vermin.”

  Barbowla looked down into the deserted ditch below. “Well, whoever it was has gone now, Skip. Brownrats, d’ye think?”

  The otter chieftain leaned over the battlements. “Mayhaps ’twas, though it might’ve been them vermin who Orkwil said were chasin’ him an’ the badger. As y’say mate, they’ve gone now, so we might never know. Good riddance t’them, says I.”

  Some of the wallguards stayed to discuss the curious incident, but the majority began trooping over to the south walltop to patrol their former positions. Orkwil was still on the west wall, where he had been joined by Maudie.

  The haremaid suddenly twitched her long, keen ears. “I say, what’s that bloomin’ rumblin’ noise?”

  The young hedgehog jiggled a paw in his ear. “What noise, I can’t hear anyth…” His voice rose to an urgent bellow. “Here they come agin! Look!”

  Everybeast hurried to the battlements, where they stood gaping in astonishment at the spectacle.

  It was Vizka Longtooth and his twoscore vermin. This time they were the pursued, not the pursuers. Openmouthed, wide-eyed, they were running for their very lives, with most of Gruntan Kurdly’s horde thundering along in their wake. A cloud of dust rose from the dried-up ditchbed, as the entire mad stampede rumbled by, heading north at top speed. The onlookers’ heads swivelled from left to right, following the mad procession as it shot by, in a welter of noise, dust and churned-up weeds and vegetation. Then it was gone, north up the ditch and into the distance.