Trimp sang the hauling shanty, as far as she knew the verses, twice before the beam was safe in the otters’ strong paws on the dormitory top.
When the others went off to new chores Martin called Trimp to him. Walking on either side of her, he and Gonff escorted her across to the gatehouse and showed her in. The Mousethief took flagon and beakers from a cupboard where he had hidden them, and poured drinks for all three.
‘Ninian’s cider, I calls this. Comes from the ole place down south on the path, where I live from time to time.’
They sipped the cold sweet cider appreciatively, in silence. It was cool and shady in the gatehouse after the bright noon sun outside. Martin leaned forward. ‘Trimp, where did you hear that song?’
‘My grandmum Welff Tiptip used to sing it. She told me that she once knew a little mouse named Martin, too. Was that you?’
Gazing into his beaker, he slowly swirled the cider. ‘That was me. I am Martin of Redwall, son of Luke the Warrior. My mother’s name was Sayna. Strange, I had almost forgotten it, until you sang your shanty. Sayna was the name my father gave to his ship as well. Being little more than a babe at the time I don’t remember much. But it comes back to me a little now. Tell me, miss, what else did your grandmum say? Anything at all?’
Holding her beaker with both paws, Trimp sipped and pondered. ‘There were names . . . Coll, Denno, Cordle, and others I can’t recall. Is that any help to you, Martin?’
‘I’m afraid not. But carry on, please.’
‘Hmm, now let me see. She used to talk of old Twoola, er, Drunn Tunneller and Windred—’
‘Windred! She was my grandmother!’ Martin grabbed the hedgehog maid’s paws. ‘Think! Did I have brothers or sisters? A grandsire? What was my father really like? Tell me about Sayna, my mother!’
Even though her paws were hurting in the vicelike grip, Trimp’s heart went out to the Warrior. ‘I can only tell you what I know, sir. Grandmum died when I was very young. She told me that I was born on the northland coast, but we fled when the slavers attacked your tribe’s settlement. Our family moved to the midnorth hills. When I became old enough I left to go roving, and first place I set out to see was my birthplace on northland shore. Alas, there was nothing left there of our old home, so I carried on roving until I met Ferdy and Coggs, and they brought me to Redwall.’
Gonff placed a paw on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Steady on there, mate. You’ll crush miss Trimp’s paw!’
Martin released her, and went to stand in the doorway, blinking to hold back welling tears. ‘I used to know things, I’m sure of it. But after the injuries I suffered battling the wildcat Tsarmina, I’ve hardly been able to recall a single thing. D’you remember Timballisto?’
Gonff nodded. ‘He was yore friend from the northlands, who was released from slavery and came here. A good mouse.’
Martin struck his paw hard against the doorpost. ‘We must have been crazy, both of us. He lived here, yet for some unknown reason we never discussed our past. Poor Timbal – he died the winter following the great Mossflower war.’
Gonff poured more cider for his friend. ‘Mayhap ’twas too painful for either of you to mention, what you went through when you were young ’uns?’
Martin stood staring out across the sunlit lawns. ‘You’re probably right, Gonff. Perhaps it was. Trimp, can’t you remember any more hames at all?’
The hedgehog maid smiled pensively. ‘Only that grandmum used to say if we didn’t stop our noise and go to sleep, Vilu Daskar would get us. Aye, Vilu Daskar. Does that name ring a bell, Martin?’
‘No, not a thing. ’Tis all too hazy, too long ago now.’
The Warrior walked off towards the Abbey. Gonff watched him, sad for his friend and the forgotten past. ‘I ain’t seen Martin like that afore, miss.’
Trimp put aside her drink and stood up. ‘Only since I came to Redwall and sang that song. This Abbey’s a beautiful place, Gonff, but I wish I’d never come here and caused Martin such unhappiness. I’d best leave.’
Gonff barred her path to the door, chuckling. ‘Sorry, me young beauty, but I can’t allow it, and neither would Martin, or anybeast calls themselves a Redwaller. Come on now, cheer up, earn yore afternoon tea. I’ll show ye how I collect honey from our bees – you can lend a paw.’
They strolled from the gatehouse towards the north-east wall corner, where the hives were situated.
‘But I’ve never tried taking honey from bees, Gonff. Don’t they have a nasty habit of stinging you?’
‘What? Sting me, the Prince of Mousethieves? Never! Not as long as I can pretend I’m a bumblebee an’ sing whilst I steal the honey from under their noses, missie.’
Trimp giggled. ‘Oh really, Gonff? What do you sing to a bee?’
‘Oh, this’n’that, y’know. I usually start like this.
‘Ho fuzz buzz buzz, look who’s a-buzzin’,
Good day sir bee, I’m Gonff yore cuzzin . . .’
Trimp’s laughter mingled with the Mousethief’s song on the sunkissed noon air as they skipped paw in paw across the lawns of Redwall Abbey.
* * *
2
IN THE DAYS following Trimp’s arrival at Redwall Abbey it became obvious to everybeast that something was wrong with their Warrior. Martin was no longer his customary jovial and helpful self. Often he was missing at mealtimes, and he spent more and more time outside the Abbey. It was a worrisome situation: Martin, the very backbone of Redwall, silent and pensive, with a faraway look clouding his eyes. Skipper and Dinny Foremole wandered up on to the east walltop, which was an ideal place to view the beauty of Mossflower Wood in summer. Lady Amber and Coggs were also up on the ramparts. Foremole greeted them with a wave.
‘Gudd day to ee. You’m bain’t seen Marthen, ’ave ee?’
Lady Amber placed a paw to her lips, cautioning silence. Pointing downwards over a battlement, she said in a low voice, ‘Martin’s sittin’ down there alone!’
Skipper crouched below the walltop, shaking his head. ‘So that’s where our Warrior goes when he leaves the Abbey. Still, y’can’t blame him. ’Tis a good place for anybeast seekin’ solitude from others.’
Coggs peeped over at the lonely figure sitting below. ‘I tell ye, friends, ’tain’t like Martin to act this way. He’s just sittin’ there with his back agin the wall, starin’ out at the trees. What’ll we do?’
Ever the sensible otter, Skipper began descending the wallsteps, down to the lawn behind the orchard.
‘Come away, mates. I’d hate t’think Martin would know we’re up ’ere a-spyin’ on him. Whilst he’s outside we could ’old a quick meetin’ with the Abbess to sort the problem out.’
All concerned gathered in the gatehouse. Ferdy and Coggs served them elderflower cordial and slices of plum cake. Old Abbess Germaine held a trumpet, made from a spiral seashell with its end cut off, to her ear. Though her body was frail and her hearing none too good, the ancient mouse’s other senses were still sharp and her eyes twinkled and shone keenly. She let them rove over the assembly, Bella, Columbine, Skipper, Dinny Foremole and Lady Amber, finally coming to rest on Trimp and Gonff.
‘Hmm. My intuition tells me that our guest Trimp and the Mousethief know more of this affair than we do, friends. So I want you to speak up clearly, one at a time please. Start at the beginning, always the best place to begin. Pray keep silent, the rest of you – I’ll hear from everybeast in due course. When the story is complete I’ll give you my decision as Mother Abbess, based of course on your facts.’
There were smiles and nods of agreement all round. Even as a young mouse, Abbess Germaine had possessed great sense and wisdom. Now, with the experience of countless seasons upon her old head, every Redwaller trusted her judgement without question. They were certain that their beloved Abbess could solve any problem.
It was late afternoon when Martin entered the Abbey by the main gate. He was immediately set on by a group of Dibbuns, the infant creatures of Redwall. Baby Gonflet was clearly the ringlea
der, wrestling fiercely with Martin’s footpaw, until the Warrior allowed himself to be laid flat on his back. Martin was immensely fond of the abbeybabes, always managing to make time for them and their odd little games. He gasped as they sat on his paws and held his ears. Baby Gonflet knelt on Martin’s chest, shaking a paw under the Warrior’s nose.
‘You be still, naughtymouse, or we choppa you whiskers off!’
Two baby moles hanging on to Martin’s belt giggled uproariously at the idea, adding their own threats.
‘Heeheehee, urr, an’ us’n’s bite ee paws offen!’
‘Yurr, an’ chuck ee inna pond, hurrhurrhurr!’
Martin looked with mock pleading at his captors. ‘Oh, lackaday, will no kind creature help me? I’m captured by wild ruffians. Have mercy on me, you savage beasts!’
Baby Gonflet grinned triumphantly at his prisoner. ‘On’y if’n you comes wiv us!’
Keeping up a pretence of fear, Martin was led protesting to the Abbey by a veritable swarm of mouse, squirrel, mole and hogbabes.
Cavern Hole was a comfortable room inside the Abbey, slightly below ground level. Abbess Germaine sat propped by cushions in her enormous ceremonial chair, surrounded by her Redwallers. Ferdy ran up the stairs and back down again, his spikes quivering excitedly.
‘He’s comin’! The Dibbuns are bringin’ Martin!’
Agile squirrels scampered about with tapers, lighting the coloured lanterns which supplemented the customary tallow candles, lending the chamber a festive atmosphere. In front of the Abbess’s chair stood a long solid elmwood table, unadorned and bare. Martin was marched up to it by the Dibbuns, and Gonflet raised a chubby paw in salute to Bella.
‘Us catchered ’im an’ brought ’im ’ere, miz Bell!’
The big badger nodded solemnly. ‘Thank you, my friends, good work. Sit down now, and we’ll deal with him right away!’
Martin held silent, only moving one eyelid to return a wink from his friend Gonff. He was, however, mystified.
Abbess Germaine opened the proceedings by pointing an accusing paw at the Warrior. ‘What does this creature stand charged with?’
Answers came rattling back like hailstones.
‘Always helping others!’
‘Defending our creatures with his life!’
‘Never considering himself!’
‘Being good and kind to all about him!’
‘Assisting Abbess Germaine to design the Abbey!’
‘Bein’ the best friend a mousethief ever had, matey!’
‘Hurr, an’ keepin’ gurt troubles to ’isself!’
Bella restored order by banging once on the table. She appealed to the Abbess. ‘This could go on all season. Pass sentence on him!’
Germaine’s eyes twinkled as she tapped her cane on the chair. ‘Bring in the instruments of punishment!’
Two trolleys were borne downstairs from the kitchens. One had a big barrel of strawberry fizz and beakers on it, the other a magnificent three-tiered cake, surmounted by a marchpane figure of the Warrior himself. The Abbess looked sternly from the trolleys to Martin and announced in a no-nonsense voice, ‘I order that you either eat all of this cake and drink the contents of that barrel . . . or share it with us before you embark upon your journey!’
Martin was plainly bewildered. ‘Er, I’ll share it with you all, of course, but, er, what journey is this I’m supposed to be embarking upon?’
Gonff stepped forward, carrying Martin’s great sword. It was a plain warrior’s weapon, nothing fancy. The hilt was the one that had belonged to his father’s old sword: blackbound, with a red pommel stone at its top. But its blade was like no other, fashioned by a Badger Lord from a chunk of metal fallen from the stars. Martin took it from Gonff, his face reflecting in the burnished steel as he said, ‘This has been used for a lot of things, but never for anything as delicate as a cake.’
Gonff indicated a spot on the butter-coloured meadowcream, between a candied chestnut and a honey-preserved rose petal. ‘Cut the cackle an’ slice the cake, matey!’
A loud cheer went up as the keen blade slid into the massive confection.
‘Martin the Warrior! Redwaaaaaaaalllllll!’
Columbine took over the slicing and Coggs served drinks, whilst Martin sat in a corner with some of his friends, eating and sipping happily. He nudged the Mousethief.
‘Gonff, you tubby rascal, I’ve a feeling you’re at the back of all this. Come on, tell me, where’s this journey going to take me?’
The Prince of Mousethieves blew out his cheeks airily. ‘Huh! You, matey? What makes y’think yore goin’ anyplace without me? I’ll be with you every step o’ the way!’
‘Hurr, zurr, an’ oi too. You’m bain’t a-goin’ an’ leavin’ Dinny Foremole ahind of ee!’
Martin wrinkled his brow in frustration, and put aside his slice of cake, which Baby Gonflet promptly stole.
‘Look, will you all stop talking in circles and tell me where I’m supposed to be going?’
Trimp could hold the secret no longer. She blurted out, ‘To the place you’ve been dreaming of, where your father Luke the Warrior swore to return someday. The northland shore, where you were born!’
Martin looked this way and that, blinking. His paws took on a life of their own, fidgeting distractedly.
‘But . . . but . . . what about the Abbey? I haven’t made any arrangements, then there’s provisions, directions, a thousand things that would have to be done . . .’
Columbine came over. Wiping cream and cake from the great battle blade with her apron corner, she gave the sword to Martin and sat down beside him.
‘No excuses, sir Warrior, ’tis all arranged and taken care of since this afternoon. Provisions are packed for you all, and you’ve got the entire summer ahead of you. Skipper and Bella will take charge of the building work, I’ll look after the Abbess. There’s absolutely nothing for you to do or worry about. After all you’ve done for Redwall and its creatures, the least we can do in return is to allow you a trip to the place of your birth, which ’tis clear you long to see.’
Martin squeezed Columbine’s paw gratefully. ‘Thank you – thank you all. What can I say?’
The irrepressible Gonff pounded him on the back. ‘That’s easy, matey, you can either say no, an’ sit around with a face like thunder until the flippin’ Abbey falls down on us, or you can say yes, when do we leave?’
For the first time in days Martin the Warrior laughed. He backpawed Gonff in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. ‘Yes, when do we leave?’
Dinny did not notice Baby Gonflet purloining his slice of cake as he shook Martin’s paw with a hefty digging claw.
‘Boi dawn on ee morrow at furst loight, zurr matey!’
* * *
3
STARS PALED INTO the receding night, cloudless sky turned from aquamarine to soft pastel bands of a new day. Out in the vast leagues of Mossflower, birds began singing among still foliage of trees which stood like ancient giants. The sun rose in the east, an immense golden ball, ready to preside over the morning and noon.
Skipper and Bella opened the main gate wide, and all the inhabitants of Redwall crowded out on to the path, surrounding the four travellers. Trimp was sorry to be leaving the beautiful Abbey and its friendly creatures. Words of advice and farewells fell thick as leaves in autumn.
‘Fates an’ fortunes be with ye!’
‘Bringa me back lotsa seashells, daddy Gonff!’
‘Go careful now. Watch yore step, Trimp!’
‘Aye, an’ don’t let that Gonff scoff all the supplies.’
‘Stay away from deep water, Dinny!’
‘An’ don’t climb any tall trees, mate!’
‘Keep that sword close t’paw, Martin. You never know!’
‘Have you got a clean kerchief, Gonff? I’ve packed some extra for you. Oh, don’t forget your flute!’
Martin kissed Abbess Germaine’s wrinkled brow. ‘Goodbye, Mother Abbess. Watch out for us near autumn.’
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The ancient mouse sniffed as she straightened his swordbelt over one shoulder. ‘Come back safe to Redwall Abbey, Martin the Warrior!’
Redwallers stopped out on the path, cheering and waving, until the four figures travelling north were lost in the shimmering dust.
Gonff strode out cheerfully, calling back to Dinny, who was lagging behind at a slower gait, ‘Come on, Din, keep up, you old wobblechops!’
Shambling along at his own pace, the good mole was not about to be rushed. ‘More ’aste less speed, zurr. We’m gotten all ee summer afore us’n’s. You’m on’y get all ’ot an’ wearied boi rushen along loik ee fussy rabbert!’
Martin slowed the pace slightly, allowing Dinny to catch up.
‘Always take a mole’s advice, Gonff. Remember, Dinny didn’t get to be Foremole by being hasty and foolish.’
Their friend’s homely face crinkled into a deep smile. ‘Oi thankee furr ee koind wurds, Marthen. Moi ole granfer used t’say oi was wise, even when oi was but a h’infant!’
Gonff could not suppress a giggle. ‘Hah! Yore ole granfer’d say anything for two pieces of pie, as I remember!’
Dinny nodded sagely at this remark. ‘Aye, an’ loik as not ee’d say more furr three pieces o’ pie, if’n you’m ’adn’t stolen ’em furst, zurr Mouseythief!’
Gonff pulled a sad face at Martin. ‘Our Dinny can be very cruel at times!’
Martin tweaked his friend’s ear playfully. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say cruel as much as truthful!’
By midday the Abbey was well lost to sight. The four travellers crossed the ditch, leaving behind the path and entering the cool green woodlands. Trimp scouted ahead a bit and found a beautiful site for their early noontide meal. Dabbling their footpaws in a small streamlet, they sat beneath a willow, lunching on apples, cheese and honeyscones, which they washed down with cold clear water. Trimp watched Martin unbuckle the great sword from his shoulderbelt and lay it down within easy paw-reach. Admiringly, the hedgehog maid watched reflections of water patterns playing along the blade.
The Legend of Luke Page 2
