The blind Badgermum nodded fondly. ‘At last Redwall is restored to its former glory, and our beautiful tapestry will soon be back where it belongs. I can stand in the centre of Great Hall and feel it, I know I can!’
Gurrbowl placed another full jar to one side. ‘Hurr, et be’d a long job awroight. This day’s ee larst day of season boi moi reckernin’.’
Rimrose looked up from her work. ‘The last day of summer? Surely not. You said that Song and her friends would be back by then, Cregga.’
The blind badger pulled the stalk from an apple and began slicing it expertly. ‘That’s what my dream told me, Rimrose. Maybe summer has a few more days to run yet. Are you sure your calculations are right, Gurrbowl?’
The molewife nodded solemnly. ‘Thurr bain’t no mustakes in moi calyoocayshuns, marm!’
Ellayo reassured Gurrbowl hastily. ‘Oh, we ain’t questionin’ yore reckonin’, marm. Matter o’ fact, summer does seem to have gone on quite long this season. Oh, by the way, has anybeast seen mister Florian an’ the Dibbuns today? They was ’aunting us yesterday, pinchin’ nuts an’ dabbin’ their paws in our ‘oney, gettin’ up to all sorts o’ roguery they were. Wonder where they’ve gotten to?’
Deesum nodded in the direction of Mossflower Wood. ‘Berrypickin’. I heard mister Janglur and mister Rusvul say at breakfast that they’d go along with Florian to keep an eye on the Dibbuns. Huh! Rather them than us, I say. Imagine having charge of that lot in the woodlands. I’ll wager they come back filthy, with their smocks all snagged and ripped!’
Rimrose poured honey into a jar, chuckling. ‘Mister Florian’ll be glad to get Dwopple and his gang back here, I should imagine. Is that them now, coming in the main gate? Dearie me, just look at the state they’re in!’
A band of Dibbuns charged across the lawn, stained red and purple with berry juice. Janglur and Rusvul followed, towing a cartload of baskets. Florian followed up, breathlessly trying to take a headcount of the Abbeybabes.
‘Five, six, seven, be still, y’blighters, wot! Come back here, back I say, young sirs an’ missies, line up correctly! Oh, confound the blighters, I’ve gone an’ lost count again. Er, three, four, five . . . Stop dodgin’ about there, Dwopple, I’ve gone an’ counted you twice again. You should be five, or was it four? No, three, that’s right. Now, three, four, five.’
Sister Sloey took a correct count as the Dibbuns ran towards her. ‘Mister Florian sir, I’ve got a count, there’s twenty-two in all. Is that how many you went out with?’
Dwopple swiped a strawberry and dipped it in honey. ’Course not! Twenny-two’s norra right, us wen’ out wiv twenny-free dis mornin’, mista Rusbul counted ’em twice!’
Rusvul and Janglur took a swift count, which tallied with Sister Sloey’s. They dropped the cart handles.
‘One’s missin’, Jang. We’ll have t’go back to the woodlands!’
‘No, you stay ’ere, Rus. I’ll go!’
Rimrose hurried past both of them. ‘You two take a rest – I’ll go. There’s some cold mint tea setting in the pond shallows. Help yourselves – you deserve it.’
Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop was first to the tea jug. ‘Ah, jolly good, cold tea after a flippin’ day chasin’ those ruffians round bush an’ shrub, nothin’ like it!’
Rimrose found the Dibbun, a baby dormouse named Guff, with enormous ears. He had toddled right on past the main gates and was close to the end of the wall, going south. Rimrose caught up with him, though he started to run and she had to chase him. She swept the tiny fellow up into her paws. ‘Where d’you think you’re off to, my little button?’
Guff pointed a berrystained paw south down the path. ‘Gunna zing downed durr!’
The good squirrelwife translated Guff’s baby talk. ‘Going to sing down there? Why’d you want to do that?’
The dormouse babe looked at her as if the answer was obvious. ‘Cozz dat’s whair alla singen be’s!’
Rimrose did not doubt the Dibbun’s word – his large sensitive ears could pick up sounds far better than hers. She stood there holding the little creature, listening for quite a while until her ears too picked up the noise. It came from many voices raised heartily as they came through the woods, roaring out an old ballad called ‘Seven Seasons Gone’.
Rimrose felt her paws trembling as she lowered Guff back to the path. Excitement and many differing emotions crowded in on her, so that she could hardly put her words together correctly.
‘Tell them Abbey, er, Abbey go, tell them Janglur, tell my daughter coming home. Quick Abbey!’
Guff nodded. He understood perfectly. Dibbuns spoke like that all the time, it was no problem. He trundled off towards Redwall while Rimrose dashed the other way, her skirts and aprons flapping as she yelled herself hoarse. ‘Song, it’s Song, my daughter’s coming home!’
Soon the dustcloud was seen rising above the trees, tramping paws keeping up with the old marching ballad. Strung across four pikestaffs borne by Song, Dann, Dippler and Gawjo, the great Redwall tapestry provided a fitting banner as they bellowed the words.
‘Seven seasons gone, oh seven seasons gone,
But now I’m comin’ home, me dear ole mate,
Over valley hill’n’field an’ me footpaws didn’t yield,
Get some vittles on the table, I can’t wait!
Go t’the left right left! Go t’the left right left!
Seven seasons gone, oh seven seasons gone,
Have the little ones all growed up big’n’strong,
Is me father in the chair, do his snores ring through the air,
Now I’m goin’ to wake him up with this ould song.
Go t’the left right left! Go t’the left right left!
Seven seasons gone, oh seven seasons gone,
I’ve been fightin’ roarin’ marchin’ all the time,
But I’m comin’ home t’you, to give you a hug or two,
The moment that I’ve supped a jug o’ wine.
Go t’the left right left! Go t’the left right left!’
Bong boom! Bong boom! Bong boom!
The bells of Redwall Abbey tolled out like melodious rolling thunder. Chores, rest, recreation and duty were forgotten. Redwallers poured out on to the path outside the gates to see the brave sight. Aprons waved and cooks’ caps were flung into the air. Cregga seized Friar Butty and sat him upon her mighty shoulders, yelling, ‘What do you see, friend, tell me what you can see?’
The old Recorder’s voice squeaked with eagerness. ‘I see Song, Dann and the young Guosim, wotsisname, Dippler! There’s an old squirrel marchin’ alongside them, looks like a seasoned warrior t’me. I see a rank of hedgehogs, biggest I ever set eyes on, must be close to a score of ’em! Right behind them there’s squirrels, mice, moles – even some otters! They’re smiling, laughing, singing, pounding the dust up high as they come. Oh, Cregga marm, did you ever see such a sight?’
Cregga chuckled at the thought of a blind badger seeing any sight, but she understood her friend’s jubilation. ‘No, I never saw such a sight, Friar. What else do you see?’
‘I see Martin the Warrior! They’ve done it! They’ve brought the great tapestry home to Redwall!’
Rusvul grabbed his son’s paws with a fierceness Dann could feel, dust settling on their faces as they stared intently at each other.
‘Dann, that night, I’m sorry . . .’
Dann seemed to have grown taller and broader. ‘Forget it, Reguba!’
Rusvul held his son at paw’s length. ‘No, Dann, yore the Reguba now. Let me look at the son who’s made me proud t’see a warrior standin’ before me!’
Janglur and Rimrose hugged Song so hard she could scarcely breathe.
‘Oh, Song, Song, thank the seasons you’re back safe!’
‘Well, missie, I’ll bet you’ve sung some songs an’ been through a few adventures since you left yore ole dad’n’mum. Haha, yore even prettier’n when y’went away!’
Song found herself looking over Janglur’s shoulder at he
r grandpa and Ellayo, staring at one another like two creatures in a dream.
‘Gawjo Swifteye, is it really you?’
‘Aye, ’tis me, Ellayo me dear, older an’ greyer, though mebbe none the wiser. Bet I’m a sight t’make sore eyes sorer, eh?’
‘Oh no, Gawjo, you look ’andsome, all silver-furred an’ well.’
‘Aye, but not half so pretty as you, Ellayo. You’ve not changed a single hair. Wait, is that our son Janglur?’
‘You could wager on it, Gawjo. That apple never fell far from the tree! He’s the breath out o’ yore mouth. Go to him!’
‘Thank ye, I will. Oh, Torrab, bring yore crew over here. Ellayo, I want you t’meet yore other sons an’ daughters.’
The old squirrelwife looked up at the big hedgehogs surrounding her and shook her head in amazement. ‘My sons an’ daughters? Great seasons! You there, you look too big to be anybeast’s son.’
The giant hedgehog bowed, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Hoho, marm, I ain’t yore son, I’m just a visitor. My name’s Sollertree an’ this is my daughter Nettlebud an’ our friend Goodwife Brimm. She’s a fine cook, I can assure ye, marm.’
Dippler found himself chatting to many Guosim friends. ‘Poor ole Bargle. That’s another Log a Log we lost, mates. Who’s Chieftain o’ the tribe now? You, Mayon? Or Splikker maybe? I’m sure you’ve chosen another Log a Log since I’ve been gone?’
Mayon shook his head ruefully. ‘No, mate, Bargle was only actin’ Log a Log. We can’t make a new Chief until we catch up with that murderin’ Fenno.’
Dippler looked puzzled. ‘Fenno? Surely ye weren’t thinkin’ o’ makin’ that blackguard into a Log a Log?’
‘Oh no. But Guosim law states clear that a new Chieftain can’t be appointed until the old one is avenged,’ Splikker explained. ‘The Guerilla Union rule is that when a Log a Log dies by the paw of a Guosim shrew . . .’
Dippler interrupted him, as shrews invariably do when debating. ‘Lissen, matey, you’ve no need to go huntin’ Fenno. I caught up with that murderin’ scum an’ slew him with my own sword, even though it was snapped in half. He’s deader’n last season’s grass an’ good riddance to the villain!’
Everybeast turned as the shrews threw up their paws and pointed their snouts towards Dippler, setting up a shout.
‘Logalogalogalogalogalooooooog!’
The young Guosim shrew stood totally embarrassed. ‘Ahoy, mates, steady on there. Wot’s all the shoutin’ about?’
A venerable old shrew named Marglo came forward, carrying something wound in barkcloth.
‘Yore only a young ’un. Stands t’reason y’not expected to know all of the Guosim law, so I’ll quote some to ye.
‘The paw of the shrew that slays the beast,
Who made our Chieftain fall,
Will wield the sword of Guosim,
And be Log a Log over all!’
Marglo unwrapped the barkcloth from a short rapier. Dippler recognized his dead leader’s blade straight away. The oldster presented it to him ceremoniously. ‘From this day forth yore name is forgotten in our tribe. Take the Chieftain’s blade. Hail, Log a Log of all Guosim!’
Everybeast on the path in front of Redwall set up an earsplitting cheer. Skipper waved them to silence. ‘Would y’like to say a word to yore tribe, Log a Log, me ole mate? Come on, don’t be shy.’
The new Log a Log thrust the rapier into his belt. ‘Ahem, now let me see . . . er . . . yes. Guosim! I’m only young but I’ll try to be as good a Log a Log as our old ’un was, fortune smile on ’is memory. But I been thinkin’. No more logboats fer us, we’re goin’ to build new vessels, light an’ swift an’ easy t’carry overland. Soon now I’ll take ye to see me friend Chief Burble, boss of the River’ead watervoles. He’s the bucko who’ll show us ’ow t’make boats like the Swallow, neatest liddle craft ever to sail a stream! Oh, an’ there’s another thing. I won’t stand t’see any young ’uns in our tribe pushed around or bullied or made fun of! Er . . . that’s all fer now, but I’ll think of more to say to ye later.’
Dann strode over to congratulate his friend. ‘Well said, Log a Log. I think you’ll be a great Chieftain!’
Cregga’s searching paw reached Dann. ‘What about you, sir Reguba? Have you got any plans?’
‘Who me? Er, no, not really, marm. Oh, I’m sorry, here’s yore sword back. Sorry I borrowed it without permission.’
Janglur’s lazy eyes flickered as he murmured to Gawjo and Rusvul, ‘Just watch young Dann’s face when Cregga tells ‘im the news!’
The blind badger’s paw closed tightly over Dann’s, holding the sword there. Everybeast heard what she had to say.
‘The sword of Martin is yours now for as long as you shall defend this Abbey with it. Dannflor Reguba, I name you Champion of Redwall!’
Before the cheering could start anew Skipper’s paw shot aloft. ‘Belay the roarin’, mates, there’s more t’ come yet. Now, is there a Songbreeze Swifteye among us t’day? Well, if there is you better get yoreself over ’ere smartish!’
Willing paws ushered Song forward until she was standing alongside Dann in front of Cregga Badgermum. Looking slightly bemused, the squirrelmaid whispered to her friend, ‘Hope they’re not going to ask me to sing. My mouth’s full of dust from that long trek.’
Ellayo tweaked her granddaughter’s ear. ‘Manners! Stop whisperin’ an’ lissen to wot the Badgermum has to say to ye, missie!’
A hush had fallen on the crowd. Curious onlookers at the back stood on tip-paw to see and hear what Cregga was about to say. She did not keep them waiting. ‘Song, you are to be the Abbess of Redwall!’
The crowd went wild with delight. It took Skipper, Sollertree, Torrab and several stout hedgehogs to restore order and a degree of quiet. The pretty squirrelmaid sat down upon the dusty path, completely dumbfounded, as Cregga continued, ‘Redwall Abbey needs someone like you, miss, young, bright and courageous. Dann is our Champion, and he will have his father, Janglur and Skipper to advise him. You, as Abbess, can always look to your grandma, your mother or to me for help. We will happily assist you in your decisions.’
Song stood up slowly, her eyes searching Cregga’s face. ‘But why me? There are many Redwallers who have lived here far longer than I have, Sister Sloey, Friar Butty, Tragglo Spearback. It is an honour far beyond my wildest dreams, marm. Tell me, why do you choose me as Abbess?’
The blind badger gave her reasons readily. ‘Whilst you were gone I was visited in my dreams by Martin the Warrior. This is what he told me.
‘Four Chieftains from the isle return,
But one with his own tribe will stay,
Three will return, back to this place,
On summertime’s last day.
The riverbeast to rule his kind,
Where once his errors were maligned,
But this to you I say,
Look to the young two went from here,
A-questing for my tapestry,
The Reguba and Swifteye’s maid,
Champion and Abbess they shall be!’
Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop bent a leg, twirled his floppy hat and produced the most elaborate bow anybeast had yet witnessed. ‘Truth will out, my deah companions, ah yes. Who among us would doubt the words of Martin the Warrior? Splendid chap, absolutely first rate, wot wot! Ahem! Would you kindly bestow upon these rustic creatures a few pearls of new-found wisdom from your rosepetal lips, O Abbess Song-thingummy?’
A puzzled look crossed Song’s face, and Friar Butty muttered, ‘He wants you to say a few words, missie – sorry, Abbess.’
Song was lifted on to the Noonvale Troupe’s cart. She looked down at the expectant faces gazing up at her and took a deep breath. ‘Would you like a feast?’
A roaring cheer arose. ‘Yes, yes, a feast!’
Holding up her paws for silence, the young squirrelmaid smiled sweetly. ‘Well, you’ll just have to wait. ’Tis autumn tomorrow and the harvesting must begin. As Abbess of Redwall I’ll have no idle paws or
gluttonous faces about me whilst there’s work to be done around my Abbey. Dann Reguba, I give you as Champion permission to liven up any slackers – tug of the ear, swift kick in the tail, that sort of thing. And you visitors, we’ll see if we can’t find you some useful chores, washing pots, scrubbing floors and what not. Oh yes, you’d better watch out when you hear the swish of this Abbess’s robe!’
Song stared solemnly at the crestfallen faces staring up at her, and then she gave a hearty giggle. ‘Heeheehee! Stop looking at me like frogs at a funeral! What’s the matter, can’t you take a joke? Listen – here are my first four official words to you as Abbess of Redwall. On with the feast!’
Cheering and laughing, they pushed the cart across the lawn to the Abbey. Florian, bringing up the rear, chatted away to Rimrose. ‘Whew, marm, greatly relieved, that’s what yours truly is. I thought we’d voted in a right young terror t’run the jolly old place, wot, a proper new-brush-sweeps-clean stickler! Good job your pretty daughter was only jokin’, wot wot! Nothin’ like a sense o’ humour I always say, chap should always be able t’take a joke or a bit o’ ribbin’ . . . Yowch!’
A pebble from the fiendish mousebabe’s sling clipped Florian’s tailbob. The hare dashed off after Dwopple shouting threats. ’Assassin, rapscallion, figdoodle, pollywoggin’ savage infant! Yes, you, sah! I’ll kick y’little tail ten times round Great Hall if I catch you! I’ll chuck you in with the flippin’ apples an’ trample you to cider! I’ll . . . Er, now now, put that sling down, there’s a good little chap . . . Heeeeelp!’
Florian flew in behind the merry cavalcade and slammed the Abbey door shut.
* * *
Epilogue
Extract from the records of Redwall Abbey, written by an Apprentice Recorder under the direction of Friar Butty.
What a feast we had that day, and the three days following it. My word! I thought mister Florian could clean a platter, until I watched those big rough hedgehogs tucking in. ’Twas a good thing there was more than enough, for Redwall lived up to its name for providing lavish hospitality to everybeast within its gates. Abbess Song’s First Feast was a rousing success! I declare, there never was such an array of food, ten kinds of cheeses, twelve different breads, all crisp and fresh. Cakes, puddings, flans, trifles, tarts and crumbles in abundance. Oh, those scones! Goody Brimm baked batches of them, assisted by the giant Sollertree and his long-lost daughter Nettlebud. Sollertree is the jolliest of creatures now that he has his daughter back. He brought with him a sack of almonds and a basket of dried grapes as a gift to our Abbey. There was a Last Summer Salad at the feast which had to be balanced between two tables because of its size. October Ale and strawberry fizz were very popular, but then, so was every other drink. Have you ever tasted skilly’n’duff? The Guosim made pans of the stuff, it is very delicious and difficult to stop eating. However, the serious trencherbeasts, Skipper, Florian, Tragglo and some others, went on to sample the moles’ famous deeper’n ever turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie and the otters’ formidably spicy hotroot soup. Excellent entertainment was provided by the Noonvale Troupe, though our poor Abbess was called upon to render ballad after ballad. I thought they would never let her sit down to eat. Martin the Warrior’s tapestry was hung in its former position amid all the jollity. That feast! Redwallers will tell of it in song and story for generations to come.
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