Half-chewed food and wine sprayed from Rawback’s mouth. ‘Wot, you mean Gruven? Hohohoho, d’ye think ’e killed the Taggerung?’
Gruven tried to drown Rawback out by shouting, ‘Don’t lissen to that crazybeast! He’s mad! You wouldn’t believe anythin’ that fool says, would ye?’
The tough lean vixen grabbed Gruven in a headlock. She stuffed his mouth with a sod of earth and grass, holding it whilst the scar-faced rat bound the stoat’s muzzle shut with his own belt. Ruggan pushed more wine at Rawback. ‘He won’t disturb us, friend. Now tell me everything, right from the start when you left camp.’
The blackberry wine swiftly loosened the stoat’s tongue, and it seemed to restore his powers of recall also. Rawback related the full tale of the hunt for the Taggerung. Ruggan Bor listened carefully to it all, particularly the episode of what took place at Redwall. For a madbeast, Rawback had an excellent memory.
‘Well, there we was, see, all in the ditch outside o’ Redwall Abbey’s front gate. Eefera an’ Vallug’s shoutin’ fer them to bring out the Taggerung. Then this mouse we was ’oldin’ prisoner breaks loose, an’ it all goes wrong. Vallug slays an ole blind stripedog with an arrer, an’ the mouse grabs a battleaxe an’ goes after Dagrab. Nobeast’s watchin’ me’n’Gruven, so ’e snatches ’is sword an’ runs off north up the ditch. That’s when I escaped too. I follered Gruven. I chanced to look back to see if we was bein’ chased. I saw Vallug Bowbeast lyin’ dead, an’ I saw the Taggerung too. But ’e was chasin’ Eefera westward o’er the plain. It was the Taggerung, though; I’d know ’im anywheres. There was an arrer stickin’ out of ’im, but a bowshaft wound wouldn’t stop a warrior like ’im. Redwall beasts was floodin’ out the gates, yellin’ an’ shoutin’. I knew it was all over then. So I kept me ’ead down an’ ran north along the bottom o’ that ditch after Gruven, fast as I could. Next thing, we leaves the ditch—’
Ruggan Bor had heard enough. ‘Finish your vittles now and rest, Rawback. You can join my clan as a Juskabor.’
Unused to so much food and wine, Rawback was soon snoring. Gruven was ungagged and brought before Ruggan Bor. The golden fox stared implacably at him. ‘You heard him. What have you got to say now?’
Gruven spat out soil and grit. He had recovered from his hysteria, and had his story ready. ‘Rawback’s mad. Even you must be able to see that. His mind is fuddled. That was the Taggerung he saw lyin’ slain in the ditch, not Vallug. His head was severed from his body. I know, I chopped it off with my own sword!’
Sipping from a flask of blackberry wine, the Juskabor Chieftain thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this at first, instead of making up a lot of foolish lies?’
Gruven went into another of his acts. This time he was the honest warrior, rough and ready, but a little embarrassed. ‘Sire, I did not want you to know that I fled in the midst of a battle. But I had to, we were greatly outnumbered. I give you my word of honour, though, I slew the Taggerung outside Redwall’s gates. There you have it, the truth!’ He stood trembling, averting his gaze from Ruggan Bor.
A long silence followed before the Juskabor leader spoke. ‘I am always prepared to listen to the truth. Since you were first brought to my camp you have wriggled and lied your way all around it, Gruven. I believe Rawback. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth. My Juska warriors are wondering why I haven’t slain you before now; they’ve seen me deal with liars and cowards before. But if you are really the Taggerung, I must allow you every chance to prove it. A Taggerung is a mighty legend among Juska clans, one to be respected and honoured. I must tell you that when I first heard an otter was the chosen one I was very disappointed. My clan and I always wanted to see a fox as Taggerung. If you slew him as you say then a lot of creatures must have witnessed the deed. We will find out the real truth, Gruven . . . when we reach the gates of Redwall!’
* * *
36
Darkness fell earlier each day as the season drew in to mid autumn. The trees were bare and the harvest was in. Deyna strolled round the Abbey lawns, paw in paw with his sister and mother, savouring the moonlit night. He caught Filorn’s glance. ‘What is it, Mama? Have I sprouted an extra ear?’
Filorn looked away quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring. ‘No, son, it’s just that you’re so like your father, a big handsome riverdog.’ She shuddered slightly in the night air. Deyna swept off his cloak and placed it round her shoulders. He smiled fondly.
‘And you’re so like my mother and Mhera’s so like my sister. Except that I’m supposed to call her Mother Abbess now. I like having two mothers, I get treated twice as well.’
Deyna was very tall. Mhera looked up at him, chuckling. ‘Start calling me Mama and I’ll kick your rudder into the pond. Isn’t it time we were going inside? I can feel rain.’
Deyna placed his sister under the cloak with Filorn. ‘Sorry. I’ve spent so long out in the open I hardly notice the weather. Come on, we’ll take a slow walk back to the Abbey.’
Filorn measured each pace deliberately. Deyna laughed. ‘I didn’t mean that slow, Mama. Come on, I’ve seen you running. Don’t come the old ottermum with me, my beauty.’
The Abbey bells tolled out softly, one ring apiece. Filorn suddenly speeded up. ‘That’s what I was waiting for. Come on, you two, I’ll race you!’
Shoulder to shoulder with Mhera, she sped off across the Abbey lawn as the first drops of rain fell. Deyna caught up with them, sweeping both off the ground and running for the Abbey door. Mhera and Filorn were laughing, kicking and shouting.
‘Hahaha, put me down, you great lump, put me down!’
‘I’m the Abbess, you can’t do that to me, put me down, baby brother! Hahaha, oh dear, hope nobeast sees us. Hahaha!’
Deyna joined in the fun. ‘I can’t, Mama, you’ll get your paws wet, and you too Mother Abbess. Got to keep my little old sister dry. Hohoho!’
Boorab and Nimbalo were waiting in the warm shaft of light from the open door. The harvest mouse shook his head sadly. ‘Lookit me pore ole mate, forced t’carry ’is wicked family round fer the rest of ’is life. Shame, ain’t it?’
The hare fixed them with a disdainful glance as they arrived on the doorstep. ‘Dreadful goin’s on, wot? Here’s me in me dwindlin’ seasons, but I notice the bounder hasn’t offered t’carry me around!’
Deyna set his mother and sister down lightly. Then he lifted Boorab up and set him on his shoulder. ‘Right, where d’you want me to carry you to, sir?’
‘I say, jolly decent of you, wot. Straight inside, laddie buck. I can’t wait to get at the jolly old harvest feast they’ve set up in your honour. Absoflippinlutely famished I am!’
The others followed Deyna and Boorab inside, Mhera calling, ‘You puddenheaded hare, you’ve given the surprise away!’
Great Hall was decorated with multi-coloured lanterns and sheaves of flowers, and the tables had been laid beautifully. Everybeast from Dibbun to elder raised a hearty cheer at Deyna’s appearance, and he was forced to feign surprise.
‘Great seasons of thunder! What a marvellous spread! Thank you, friends one and all. Thank you!’
Boorab tugged Deyna’s ear. ‘I say, old scout, any chance of lettin’ me down, wot?’
‘Hurr hurr, you’m stayen oop thurr, zurr, give us’n’s a chance at ee vikkles. ’Old on to ee gurt glutting, zurr Deyna!’
Boorab bared his teeth at Gundil. ‘If he does I’ll scoff his blinkin’ ears one at a time!’
Deyna sat at the head of the big table, with Filorn, Mhera, Nimbalo and Hoarg, Redwall’s oldest inhabitant. It was a feast to remember, happiness and friendship enhanced by the best of Redwall fare. Puddings, pies, pasties and cakes were arranged between fruit, berries and nuts, both fresh and preserved in honey from last autumn’s harvest. Salads, breads and soups of every variety jostled for position with trifles and flans. Drogg Cellarhog had outdone himself with his selection of ales, cordials, teas and fizzes. But the highlight was a great cheese, produced by
Filorn, Boorab, Nimbalo and Gundil. The hare watched anxiously as it was served from the table’s far end.
‘Steady on there, you molechaps, leave a smidgen for the Master of Abbey Music. Have a bit of respect for my cheese, you rotters!’
However, there was still almost three-quarters of the huge cheese left when it reached the much relieved hare. He cut a large wedge, arranging it on a platter with some salad, pickled onions and a farl of warm ovenbread, and passed it proudly along to Deyna.
‘Try that, sah. Go on, taste it and tell me if you’ve ever scoffed anything so good, wot?’
Deyna cut the cheese and tossed half to Skipper, so they could both sample it. Filorn smiled at their delighted expressions. ‘We made a new yellow cheese and spiked it with nuts, celery and herbs, then we soaked it for three days in boiling carrot and dandelion juice mixed with pale cider. Mr Boorab gave it a name, but it’s too complicated to say.’
The hare bowed gallantly. ‘Quite simple, marm. We made it together, so I took a bit of our names, all four. It’s a filboonimgun. Nice title, wot?’
Mhera nudged her brother. ‘I’d never get any if I had to remember that name. I think I’ll just call it the nice big tasty cheese.’
Nimbalo winked knowingly. ‘That’s ’cos you ain’t got a memory like me, Abbess. Ahoy, Friar Bobb, pass me the floggingrumble cheese, will ye?’
Fwirl corrected him. ‘It’s called the grungleflingboo cheese, isn’t it?’
Others joined in, complicating the name Boorab had so painstakingly invented.
‘No no, miz Fwirl, ’tis the floogenbumble, I think.’
‘Nay, zurr, et be’s ee groggenfumble, oi’m surrpint!’
‘Don’t be silly, the cheese is called the fumblegroogen!’
‘The groggenflingbull, that’s what Boorab said!’
Sister Alkanet rapped the table for silence. ‘Stop this, please! Mr Boorab, tell them the correct name.’
Everybeast sat watching the hare. They had to wait until he had eaten the big lump of cheese in his mouth. There was an expectant silence, then Boorab smiled foolishly. ‘Er, sorry, but I’ve completely forgotten, wot. Hawhawhawhaw!’
The entertainment was opened by Skipper and his crew performing a hornpipe, the finale of which saw them all in a circle facing outwards, their rudders entwined in a pattern behind them. Fwirl and Mhera were called upon to sing a duet. It was a comic one, but they sang it seriously, with demure looks, fluttering eyelashes and paws joined sedately.
‘There’s a hedgehog who lives down the lane, down the lane,
And I’m longing to see him again, once again,
I wait by the old log, for that handsome young hog,
Through the cold stormy wind, and the drizzle and fog,
But his mama won’t let him come out, him come out,
I can hear every shout from her snout, what a snout,
“Don’t you raise a paw, to go out of that door,
Go and tidy your room,” I can hear his ma roar.
Through the window I see his dear face, oh dear face,
By that window a ladder I’ll place, I will place,
Then just wait and see, he’ll climb down here to me,
We’ll go strolling together, how happy we’ll be.
So I crept to the window that night, cruel dark night,
I was standing the ladder upright, what a fright!
When his mama rushed out, crying, “Oh lackaday,
That naughty young Spike has gone running away!”
So I sit here and weep for my hog, faithless hog,
’Cos they say he’s run off with a frog, with a frog?
Take a maiden’s advice, if you want to look nice,
Just turn yellow and hop once or twice!’
Fwirl and Mhera hopped primly back to their places amid laughter and applause. Deyna did not wish to do any warrior’s tricks that he had learned with weapons, as they might frighten the Dibbuns. Instead he sat twenty of the Abbeybabes on a long form, took it on his shoulders and walked the full length of Great Hall. Amid the cries of admiration and wild cheers, Nimbalo announced, ‘I taught me mate to do that, y’know, but I used to carry two score o’ liddle ones!’
Boorab was not to be outdone. ‘Oh did you indeed? Well I used to do it with that same number, old lad, plus me fat auntie an’ two kegs of ale. Oh yes!’
It was a fibbing contest. Everybeast sat back and enjoyed the pair, each trying to cap the other’s achievements by lying outrageously.
‘Hah, that’s nothin’. When I was only a liddle sprig I could stand in a bucket an’ carry meself round all day!’
Boorab waggled his ears airily. ‘Pish tush, laddie. You’ve see how high this Abbey is, wot? Well one time I stood on the lawn outside and landed on the roof with a single flippin’ jump. Did it very slowly, of course, had to wait an’ rise with the mornin’ mist, y’know. If y’don’t believe me, ask old Foremole. She saw me do it, didn’t you, marm?’
Foremole Brull smiled from ear to ear. ‘Aye, zurr, oi see’d ee do et wi’ moi own three eyes, so oi did!’
Mousebabe Trey decided to take part. He clambered up on to Filorn’s lap and wagged a tiny paw at the two fibbers. ‘Chah! Dat nuffink, I climbed right up on F’lorn an’ felled inna big big trifle, so I eated meself out of it. You ask Frybobb!’
Friar Bobb nodded sagely. ‘He certainly did. I was there, it was no fib.’
‘You fell into a giant trifle an’ ate your way out?’ Boorab stared at the mousebabe with something akin to hero worship in his eyes. Trey patted his small fat stomach.
‘Yip, h’I did, sir!’
The hare’s gaze misted over as he imagined what it would be like to fall into a monster trifle and eat his way out. ‘You lucky little blighter. Wish I could’ve had a try, wot!’
Nimbalo pushed a fair-sized trifle across the table. ‘Let’s see ’ow ye did it, Trey me ole tatercake!’
Sister Alkanet stepped in, catching the little fellow almost mid dive. Boorab and Nimbalo wilted under the famous icy glare.
‘I once physicked a hare and a harvest mouse so severely that they swelled up and couldn’t go out through the infirmary door. Then I had to double physick them back to normal. I can still do it. Ask Abbess Mhera, she’ll tell you.’
‘Oh believe me, Sister Alkanet certainly can,’ the Mother Abbess of Redwall assured them solemnly. ‘’Tis a fact!’
Boorab’s ears fell flat, either side of his face. ‘Stone me! A joke’s a joke an’ all that, but, er, wot, wot!’
Nimbalo lifted one of his friend’s ears and whispered into it, ‘Fizzick? Wot’s a fizzick, matey?’
‘Take the word of an officer, sah, you do not want to enquire further. The good Sister could stop a horde o’ stampedin’ frogs with just a spoonful of the jolly old jollop she brews up!’
Rain pattered against the warm-lit Abbey windows as the night wore on. Elders loosened their belts and talked of the old days, drowsy young ones were carried off to the dormitories by Skipper’s ottercrew. Bearing the famous cheese between them, a cluster of moles, Boorab, Nimbalo and Gundil followed Drogg downstairs. It was an experiment, to see how the cheese complemented the Cellarhog’s remaining stock. Old Hoarg and Brother Hoben drifted off to the gatehouse for a game of nutshells and pebbles. Friar Bobb had fallen asleep in his chair, while Floburt and Egburt crept away to the kitchens with Sister Alkanet to bake scones for next morning’s breakfast. Others shuffled off yawning to their beds. Deyna was happy just to sit with Mhera and Filorn. He gazed up at the ancient high-raftered ceiling while Abbess Mhera watched him.
‘So, do you like our Abbey?’
The former Taggerung ran a paw over his unmarked face. There was no evidence of any tattoo on it. ‘Like it? I never imagined any place could be so wonderful. I’ve got you here, and Mama too. It’s like living in the midst of a beautiful dream!’ He hugged his mother and sister close. Filorn sighed happily.
‘The dream will continue. We are a family again,
together, here at Redwall.’
Several mornings later, Nimbalo was out early, taking a morning stroll along the walltop. He liked rising before dawn and helping in the kitchens amid the good-natured bustle and delicious aromas wafting from the ovens. Friar Bobb would slice some hot bread and pack it with button mushrooms cooked in a savoury herb sauce for him. The harvest mouse climbed the east wallsteps with his sandwich and ambled along the ramparts. He was fascinated by everything about the imposing architecture of Redwall, and munched away, his bright eyes taking in every detail. An early frost rimed the red sandstone battlements. Dawn was breaking slowly, calm and windless, tingeing the horizon orange and peach. Below the north wall, rowan trees were clustered thick with red and cream berries; further away he could see the fir cones, now turned brown. In leisurely fashion Nimbalo reached the northwest wall corner. His gaze swept over the flatlands and back to the path which ran alongside the west wall.
There standing in front of the main gate was Ruggan Bor at the head of three hundred armed Juska vermin. They stood immobile and silent, barbaric tattooed faces tight-lipped, awaiting their Chieftain’s command. Not a spear or a blade clanked against a shield. Ruggan Bor, the golden fox, leaned on his sabre hilt, his inscrutable gaze assessing the walls.
Nimbalo dropped flat below the battlements, his breakfast forgotten as he scrambled away to the north steps.
* * *
37
Icy ditchwater squelched beneath Gruven’s footpaws as he stood in the ditchbed, surrounded by his six guards. His mind worked furiously as he tried to figure out what would happen when Ruggan Bor made his presence known to the Redwallers. Gruven shivered, more from fear than cold, and the ditchwater gurgled and made a sucking noise as he changed position. The tough vixen cuffed his ear and whispered viciously. ‘Quit hoppin’ round an’ be still or I’ll knock ye senseless!’
Slowly the sun rose over the vast thickness of east Mossflower. Ruggan kept his Juska clan close in to the west wall, not wanting to be out on the flatlands with the sun in his eyes. He would wait until the sun got higher and lessened the handicap. Behind him, Rawback gave a slight cackle. Ruggan gave a nod to two of his foxes. They did not bind Rawback, merely gagging the crazed stoat and muttering a few warning words to keep him silent. Ruggan Bor was an experienced leader. Always calm and patient, he could wait until he felt the moment was right.
The Taggerung (Redwall) Page 39
