The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  Alas, the seasons caught up with all the old crew who were our elders, and they have gone happily to the sunny meadows. Though they are always alive in our memories, those good creatures and the knowledge and joy they imparted to all. Sad, is it not though, that our Abbey has lacked a badger and a hare for many a long season now? But I beg your indulgence, I am getting old and maudlin, I’ve become the same ancient fogey my friends and I would laugh at in our youth. Enough of all this! If I sit here much longer I’ll be baked to a turn like the oatfarls in the oven. If my creaking joints will allow me I’m going out to play with the others. After all, it is springtime, isn’t it?’

  Abbess Tansy ducked as a ball made from soft moss and twine flew over her head. She wrinkled her nose at the tiny mouse who had thrown it. ‘Yah, missed me, Sloey bunglepaws!’

  The mousebabe stamped her footpaw and grimaced fiercely. ‘A not ’uppose t’duck you ’ead, Muvver Tansy, you stannup straight!’

  Behind Tansy a Dibbun mole picked up the ball, and was about to throw it clumsily when Craklyn sneaked up. She took the ball from him and threw it hard, hitting Tansy on the back of her head.

  With the soft ball sticking to her headspikes the Abbess whirled around, a look of comic fury upon her face. ‘Who threw that ball? Come on, own up!’

  Craklyn’s expression was one of simple innocence. ‘It wasn’t me, Mother Abbess!’

  Tansy glared at the little ones playing the game. ‘Well, who was it, one of you rascals?’

  The Dibbuns fell about laughing as a small mole named Gubbio pointed to Craklyn. ‘Yurr, et wurr ee flung yon ball, marm!’

  Craklyn looked horrified. She pointed to Gubbio, saying, ‘No, it wasn’t! You were the one who threw the ball! We saw him, didn’t we?’

  This caused more hilarity among the babes. The sight of the Recorder fibbing like a naughty Dibbun was too much for them. They skipped about giggling, pointing to Craklyn.

  ‘’Twas marm Craklyn, ’twas ’er!’

  Abbess Tansy pulled the ball from her headspikes and pretended to lecture the Recorder severely. ‘You naughty creature, fancy throwing things at your Abbess! Right, no supper for you tonight. Straight up to bed, m’lady!’

  It all proved too much for the Dibbuns, who threw themselves down on the grass, chuckling fit to burst.

  Foremole Diggum in company with Arven the squirrel Warrior and several other moles passed by, headed for the south wall. They had been talking earnestly together as they went, but on seeing Abbess Tansy they stopped conversing, and nodded to her as they hurried on their way.

  ‘Afternoon, marm, an’ you too, marm!’

  Craklyn exchanged glances with Tansy. ‘They’re up to something. Hi, Arven! What’s the rush, where are you all off to?’

  ‘Nothin’ for you t’be concerned with, marm,’ Arven called back to her. ‘Just out for a stroll.’

  Immediately, Tansy took Craklyn’s paw and began to follow them. ‘You’re right, they are up to something. Out for a stroll, eh? Well, come on, friend, let’s join ’em! Carry on with the game, you little ’uns, and no cheating!’

  Behind the shrubbery which bordered the outer wall of the ramparts on their south side, Diggum Foremole and the rest were questioning a mole called Drubb.

  ‘Whurr do ee say ’twas, Drubb?’

  He pointed with a heavy digging claw in several places as he brushed hazel and rhododendron shrubs aside. ‘Yurr see, an’ yurr, yonder too, roight along ee wall if’n you’m look close. Hurr, see!’

  Craklyn and Tansy arrived on the scene. Straight away the Abbess started to interrogate Arven. ‘What’s going on? There’s something you aren’t telling me about. What is it, Arven – I demand to know!’

  The squirrel had crouched low at the wallbase, probing the joints of massive red sandstone blocks with a small quill knife. He looked up at Tansy, keeping his voice deceptively calm. ‘Oh, it’s something and nothing, really. Drubb here says he thinks the wall is sinking, but he may not be right. We didn’t say anything to you, Tansy, because you’ve enough to do as Abbess . . .’

  He was cut short by Tansy’s indignant outburst. ‘The south outer wall of my Abbey is sinking and you didn’t consider it serious enough to let your Abbess know? Who in the name of stricken oaks do you think I am, sir – Mother Abbess of Redwall, or a little fuzzbrained Dibbun playing ball?’

  Diggum Foremole touched his brow respectfully. ‘You’m forgive oi fer sayin’, marm, but ee lukked just loik a fuzzybrain Dibbun a playin’ ball when us’n’s passed ee but a moment back, hurr aye.’

  Tansy drew herself up grandly, spikes abristle and eyes alight. ‘Nonsense! Show me the wall this instant!’

  The group wandered up and down the length of the high battlemented south wall for the remainder of the afternoon, talking and debating and pointing earnestly. The final conclusion was inescapable. The wall was sinking, bellying inward too. They probed the mortar between the stone joints, stood on top of the wall and swung a weighted plumbline from top to bottom. Then, placing their faces flat to the wall surface and squinting with one eye, they gauged the extent of the stonewarp. Whichever way they looked at it there was only one thing all were agreed upon. The south wall was crumbling!

  * * *

  10

  DARKNESS WAS STEALING over Redwall Abbey, and the lights of Great Hall shone through long, stained-glass windows, laying columns of rainbow colours across the lawn. Buttressed and arched, the ancient building towered against a backdrop of Mossflower woodlands. From belltower to high roof ridge, it was the symbol of safety, comfort and achievement to all the Redwallers who called it home.

  Sister Viola Bankvole had never adopted the simple habit worn by most Abbey creatures. She favoured flounces and ruffles, supported by more petticoats than enough. She made her way out of the Abbey main door, holding up a lantern and tutting fussily as playful night breezes tugged at her cloak and bonnet. Brazen and slow, Redwall’s twin bells boomed out sonorously, calling everybeast to table for the evening meal.

  Abbess Tansy and her party were at the north wall gable, completing an exhaustive inspection of the entire outer walls.

  Foremole Diggum patted the stones fondly. ‘Burr! Thank ee, season’n’fates, thurr b’aint nuthen wrong with ee rest of’n our walls, marm, boi ’okey thurr b’aint!’

  Arven held up his lantern, watching Abbess Tansy’s face anxiously. ‘He’s right, Tansy. The east, north and west walls, including the gatehouse, stairs, ramparts and maingates are all sound as the day they were built!’

  The Abbess rubbed a paw across her tired eyes. ‘So they are, but that’s little comfort when the whole south wall could topple at a moment’s notice.’

  Viola came bustling up, bonnet ribbons streaming out behind her. ‘Mother Abbess! There’s a full evening meal waiting inside that cannot start without your presence! My word, just look at yourselves, dusty paws, thorns and teazels sticking to your clothing, what a sight! Craklyn, I thought you were supposed to be helping with the Dibbuns’ bedtime. Goodness knows what time those babes will get up to the dormitory tonight when they haven’t even been fed yet! Oh, and another thing . . .’

  Arven’s voice cut strongly across the bankvole’s tirade. ‘Enough! That will do, Sister Viola!’

  Tansy took advantage of Viola’s huffy silence to say, ‘Thank you, Sister, we will be in to dine shortly. Meanwhile, would you be good enough to take my chair and order the meal to start in my absence? But do not send the Dibbuns to bed. I have something to say for all Redwallers to hear.’

  Viola seemed to swell up with the importance of her mission. Nothing she could think of pleased her more than taking the Abbess’s place, albeit only for a short time. The bankvole swept off back to the Abbey, cloak aswirl with the wind.

  Craklyn watched her go as they made their way towards the Abbey pond to wash. ‘Hmph! That bankvole, sometimes I think a swift kick in the bustle would do her the world of good.’

  Tansy stifled a smile as she reproved her f
riend. ‘Sister Viola is a good and dutiful creature, and she can’t help being a bit over-zealous at times. Mayhap we could all take a little lesson from her devotion to detail.’

  The bustle and chatter of good company was always a keynote to Redwall dining. Great Hall was packed with Redwallers, eating and conversing across well-laden tables. Golden and brown crusts of batch loaves, nutbread and oatfarl shone in the candlelight; tureens of steaming barley and beet soup, filled with corn dumplings, were placed at intervals, between hot cheese and mushroom flans and fresh spring salads. Flagons of spiced fruit cordial and dandelion tea vied for place with pear and chestnut turnovers, apple and cream puddings and two huge wild cherry and almond cakes. Many of the elders sat Dibbuns on their laps, sharing their plates with the Abbeybabes. The young ones were jubilant at the chance to stay up late.

  Arven and the moles came to table in Tansy’s wake. The good Abbess signalled Viola to stay where she was, in the big chair at top table. Shoving Sloey the mousebabe and Gubbio the Dibbun mole playfully apart, Tansy placed herself between them on the low bench, saying, ‘Move aside there, you two great fatties, let a poorbeast in!’

  Sloey looked up from her soup as she moved to make room. ‘Big fatty y’self, marm. Wot you be late for?’

  Gubbio spoke for his Abbess as he munched a large slice of cake. ‘Apportant bizness, oi surpose.’

  Tansy ladled soup for herself, winking at the molebabe. ‘Aye, mate, apportant bizness it was!’

  The meal continued in no great hurry, a low buzz of conversation accompanying it. Time was never a factor when victuals were being taken at Redwall. When Tansy judged the moment was right, she stood up and nodded to Viola. The bankvole rang a small pawbell which was on the table near where she sat. Talk died away and Dibbuns were shushed as Tansy addressed her creatures.

  ‘My friends, listen carefully. As your Mother Abbess I have something to tell you. Now there is no cause for alarm, but Foremole Diggum, Arven, Craklyn, some other good moles and myself have inspected the structure of our Abbey’s outer walls today. For some reason, as yet unknown to us, the south wall is in a dangerous state.’

  Shad, a big otter who occupied the gatehouse as keeper, was immediately up on his paws. ‘What’s t’be done, marm?’

  Tansy gestured to Diggum, and the Foremole answered for her. ‘Hurr, furstly us’n’s needs to foind out whoi ee be unsafe, on’y then’ll us be able to fixen ee wall.’

  With Tansy’s permission, Arven was next to speak. ‘There’s no need for anybeast to worry, but we must set a few sensible rules for the safety of all. From tomorrow we will fence off an area isolatin’ the entire south wall. Please do not hang about near it. Carry on with your chores and pleasures as normal and see that none of our little ’uns try to play in the area, because it will be dangerous for a while. Lots of stone and rubble are bound to be lying about when the wall is demolished.’

  An incredulous murmur arose round Great Hall.

  ‘They’re going to knock down the south wall, demolish it!’

  Shad the Gatekeeper thwacked the table with his thick tail, silencing the talkers. ‘Hearken t’me! Wot’s all the bother about? Stands t’sense that a wobbly wall ’as t’be knocked down afore y’can build it back right. You ’eard Abbess Tansy, there ain’t no cause to worry!’

  Pellit, a fat dormouse kitchen helper, shook his head knowingly. ‘Huh, just wait until the first vermin comin’ up the path spots the wall knocked down, that’ll be the time to start worryin’!’

  A loud hubbub broke out as a result of the dormouse’s observation, and argument and dispute took over until Great Hall was in uproar. Many of the Abbeybabes, upset by the noise, began wailing with fright.

  Without warning, Viola Bankvole leapt up on to the table. Seizing a big empty earthenware basin she raised it high and sent it crashing to the floorstones. The noise of it smashing to fragments caused a momentary silence. That was enough for Viola; she was in, her voice ringing out sternly. ‘Silence! Be quiet, I say! Have you no manners at all? You there, Brother Sedum, and you, Pellit, take these babes off to bed right now! The rest of you, stop behaving like a pack of wild vermin, shame on you! Arven, you are Abbey Warrior, tell these silly creatures of your plans!’

  Arven had made no plans at all, but he took the centre floor and made them up boldly as he went along, his voice ringing with confidence to reassure the listeners.

  ‘My plans, yes – I was just coming to that before all the shouting started. Foremole Diggum and his moles will take care of the demolition and rebuilding, together with any of you he chooses to assist him. The work will be carried out in shifts, so that the job will be completed as soon as possible. Meanwhile I’m sure our friend Shad will contact the Skipper of otters and his crew, and together with our own stout creatures, they will form a force to guard and patrol the immediate area. Really, friends, there is no cause to worry at all. Many seasons have passed since any vermin bands were seen in this part of Mossflower Country.’

  Tansy clapped her paws in appreciation of Arven’s fine speech, and soon the other Redwallers joined in, heartened by his words.

  Late that night when most other creatures were abed, Tansy presided over a meeting of the Abbey elders in Cavern Hole, a smaller, more comfortable venue. Whilst they were gathering she took the opportunity of murmuring to Craklyn, ‘What price a swift kick in the bustle now, marm? I think Viola behaved magnificently tonight in Great Hall. There’s a lot more to our Infirmary Sister than mostbeasts would think, d’you agree?’

  The squirrel Recorder nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed there is, she can be a proper little firebrand when she wants. All right, Mother Abbess, I’ll eat my words. I’d sooner shake her by the paw than kick her in the bustle!’

  Deep into the small hours they sat debating the issue of the south wall, its possibilities and its perils. The meeting ended with Diggum’s irrefutable mole logic.

  ‘Hurr well, so be’t. Us’n’s caint do ennythin’ ’til we foinds out wot maked ee wall go all of awobble. Oi’m thinkin’ us’n’s won’t be able t’do that proper lest us gets a gudd noight’s sleep.’

  Arven tossed and turned in his bed, the question of the wall troubling him greatly, until finally sleep took over and he settled down. In his dreams he was visited by Martin the Warrior, the guiding spirit of Redwall Abbey. Martin was the Warrior who had been instrumental in founding Redwall long ages before. The dust of countless seasons had blown over his grave, though his image was still fresh on the wall tapestry of Great Hall. It was often in times of trouble and crisis that he would appear in dreams to one or another Redwaller of his choosing, comforting and counselling them.

  On this night, however, his words carried a warning to Arven. Looming through the mists of slumber the warriormouse strode, armoured and carrying his legendary sword. Arven instinctively knew there would be a message for both him and the Abbey, and as he watched Martin draw near, a great sense of peace and wellbeing swept over him. He felt like some small creature folded within the security of a figure that was old, wise, compassionate and above all, safe.

  The Warrior spoke.

  ‘Watch you ever the southlands,

  And beware when summertide falls,

  A price will be paid for these stones we hold dear,

  Though war must not touch our walls.’

  Arven had no recollection of his dream the next day.

  * * *

  11

  ON THE SOUTHEAST coastline the mighty Rapscallion army crouched, saturated, cold and hungry, amid the wreckage of their ships. Greyblack and bruised though it was, dawn proved a welcome sight for the dispirited vermin masses. Nobeast could have known that after they had burned their dwellings a storm would arrive in the night.

  It came from the southeast, tearing across the seas with a vengeance, without warning. Battering torrents of rain sheeted down to drown the campfires round which the vermin were sleeping. Hailstones big as pigeon eggs were mixed with the deluge, while a gale force
wind drove the downpour sideways over the beach.

  Shrieking and roaring, rats, ferrets, stoats, weasels and foxes dashed about on the shingle, seeking shelter as the storm’s intensity grew. Ships beached on the immediate tideline were seized upon by the mountainous seas and heaved out upon the waves, where they were smashed like eggshells as they crashed into each other. Rigging and timbers, ratlines and gallery rails flew through the air, slaying several unfortunates who were running panicked on the shore.

  Only four vessels, beached high above the tideline, their hulls half buried by sand and shingle, were safe. Around the lee sides of these ships the Rapscallions fought their comrades savagely, endeavouring to find shelter. Damug Warfang and his Rapmark officers, together with a chosen few, occupied the cabin spaces, whilst the remainder fended for themselves out in the open.

  By daylight the rain and hailstones had passed, sweeping upward into the land, though the wind was still strong and wild. Damug crouched over a guttering fire in the cabin of his father’s former ship, teeth chattering. Drawing his cloak tighter, he watched Lugworm heating a pannikin of grog over the meagre flames.

  ‘That looks ready as it’ll ever be. Give it here!’

  With his teeth rattling like castanets against the container, the Greatrat sipped gingerly at the scalding concoction. When he had drunk enough the Firstblade gave the remainder to Lugworm, who choked it down before Damug could change his mind. Peering through the broken timbers, Damug cast his eye over the low-spirited Rapscallions roaming the shore.

  ‘We’ll move right away, get inland where the weather’s a touch milder. First grove o’ woodland we find will do for a camp; fire, water, whatever food we can forage, then they’ll be ready to gear up and march.’