Loamhedge: A Novel of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  “I knew it, though it only occurred to me awhile after she’d been speaking with me. Oh Martha, why did you have to go and do it?”

  But Toran did not stop to argue the point. He was already over the sill, clutching the linen rope and lowering himself down.

  Sister Setiva leaned out of the window. “Och, ye’ll get caught by yon vermin if ye go out there!”

  The ottercook dropped to the ground and drew his sling. “Martha must’ve gone out by the east wallgate to find the badger. I’m goin’ to look for her, you stay by here an’ keep watch for us. Pull yoreself t’gether, Carrul!”

  The Abbot stood by the window with Sister Setiva. “I should have known, I should have stopped her!”

  Placing a comforting paw about him, the Infirmary Keeper shook her head. “Ah’ll have a wee word wi’ Martha when she returns. Ah thought it was only her brother who acted silly. Don’t blame yersel’, Father, yer no’ a mindreader! How were ye tae know the maid wid do sich a thing?”

  Toran was stealing across the back lawn, when he saw Wirga ahead of him. He crouched low and watched her as she neared the east wallgate, then halted, obviously having heard something. Then Wirga scurried to a rhododendron bush, which grew close to the wall, hiding herself behind it.

  The small door creaked on its hinges as it opened. Martha entered the Abbey grounds. Her paw lost in Lonna’s grip, the haremaid turned and smiled at him. “Home at last, welcome to Redwall, Lonna!”

  The badger had to stoop as he came through the gate. Toran saw Wirga slowly stand upright, placing the blowpipe to her mouth. There was no time to stop and think. He acted speedily. Bounding forward, the ottercook threw himself sideways, slamming into the Searat. Wirga’s head hit the sandstone wall with a resounding crack, immediately reuniting her with her three sons.

  Martha pulled on Lonna’s paw as he whipped the long knife from his arm sheath. “Don’t hurt him, that’s my friend Toran!”

  Lonna took hold of the ottercook’s apron and stood him upright. Toran blinked past him at the haremaid. “Martha, is that you, matey?”

  She ran forward and hugged him. “Oh Toran, that was a brave thing to do. Quick, let’s get inside, there might be more Searats prowling about!”

  Other Redwallers had found their way to the linen room. There were many willing paws to assist Toran and Martha back inside the Abbey. Lonna, however, was a different matter. Extra cloths and sheets had to be knotted into the makeshift rope. The badger’s weight was such that no amount of helpers could even raise him from the ground. Tossing his bow and quiver up to Toran, the big badger made his own way, paw over paw, up the Abbey wall to the room. At first, Martha thought Lonna would burst the window frame, but he managed to squeeze through with a certain amount of grunting and wriggling.

  The haremaid beamed proudly at the Abbot as she presented her new friend to him. “Father, this is Lonna Bowstripe. He has volunteered to help us. Lonna, this is the Father Abbot Carrul of Redwall!”

  There was a deal of comment from the awestruck onlookers.

  “Good grief, will you look at the size of him!”

  “Hurr, oi never see’d nobeast as gurt as that ’un!”

  “Look, his head almost touches the ceiling!”

  Without registering the least surprise, Abbot Carrul shook the badger’s massive paw. “Welcome to Redwall, Lonna, and my thanks to you for returning our Martha unscathed. It was a brave deed.”

  Lonna immediately took a liking to the dignified old mouse. “Thank you, Father, it’s a pleasure to be here. I will do all I can to rid your home of Raga Bol and his Searats.”

  Carrul bowed gravely, then turned his attention to the onlookers. They were still commenting on the new arrival’s size, speculating as to how his face came to be so dreadfully wounded. The Abbot stared them into silence.

  “It has always been our manner to welcome visitors and offer them refreshment. Have you nothing better to do than embarrass our guest with your remarks?”

  Muttering apologies, the Redwallers hurried off downstairs to comply with their Abbot’s wishes.

  Carrul beckoned to Lonna. “Come, friend, you must be hungry and tired. Let Martha and me offer you our hospitality. You must forgive our Abbeybeasts, they meant no offence.”

  Lonna followed Martha and the Abbot from the linen room. “No offence taken, Father. I would be surprised if they had not mentioned the way I look. Anybeast I’ve ever met does.”

  Martha gave him a reproving look. “I never mentioned your appearance. Neither did Abbot Carrul or Toran, for that matter.”

  Lonna gave the haremaid one of his rare smiles. “Then I have made three good and sensible friends tonight. I think I’m going to enjoy Redwall Abbey.”

  Everybeast stayed up late that night, crowding into Cavern Hole to see the giant badger. Granmum Gurvel and her helpers trundled to and fro from the kitchens, bringing lots of delicious food for the guest, and for all present. Lonna sat staring at the array of fine things. Then Foremole Dwurl presented him with an outsized portion of his own personal favourite.

  “Yurr zurr, this bee’s deeper’n’ever turnip’n’tater’n’ beetroot pie. If’n ee doant wish t’be h’offendin’ ee cook, you’m best eat ’earty. Thurr bee’s aplenty more whurr that cummed frumm, an’ ee cook’s a gurt fearsome ole villyun!”

  The badger took an amused glance at the dumpy figure of Granmum Gurvel, then set to with a will. Redwallers gazed in wonder as the hungry giant satisfied his appetite.

  Sister Setiva even ventured a wry wink at Lonna. “Och, there’s nothin’ worse than a beast with a wee flimsy appetite, pickin’ away at his vittles, ah always say!”

  Lonna accepted a full deep-dish apple-and-blackberry crumble from the Infirmary Keeper. He dug into it with gusto. “Aye, marm, but you must forgive me. They tell me I was a very fussy babe. It’s a wonder how I survived!”

  His observation broke the ice; the Redwallers burst out laughing in appreciation of their visitor’s ready wit.

  After the meal, they sat entranced, as Lonna related his story, which included his meeting with the travellers. The Dibbuns had infiltrated the gathering, slowly encroaching until they were sitting on Lonna’s footpaws. Craning their necks, they stared in goggle-eyed admiration at the one who had confessed to being a fussy babe. Lonna gained them extra time, interceding with the elders not to send the Abbeybabes up to bed. Infants were always a source of amazement to him, he marvelled at their minute size and lack of shyness with strangers.

  Having finished his narrative, Lonna asked Martha to tell him of how she came to be walking. The haremaid obliged willingly. Muggum had managed to scale the badger’s footpaws and now sat upon his lap.

  Tugging the badger’s paw, the molebabe succeeded in gaining his attention. “You’m surpinkly a gurt creetur! Zurr Lonn’, ’ow big bee’s yore bed?”

  Lonna looked thoughtful and adopted a serious tone. “Hmm, it’s quite large, and wide, too, though I’ve give up carrying it around with me. Why do you ask, sir?”

  Muggum waved a tiny paw generously. “You’m best take moi bed, Lonn. Oop in ee dormittees et bee’s!”

  The talk went back and forth, encouraged by beakers of mulled October Ale for the elders and raspberry cup for the young ones. After awhile, the old ones fell into a doze; the Dibbuns, too, no longer able to keep their eyes open, curled up and slept where they chose.

  Abbot Carrul took advantage of the lull in the conversation, murmuring to Lonna, “Come up to the kitchens, there’s an empty storeroom there. We’ll set up a sleeping place for you. But before that, I must talk to you, friend. We’ll formulate a plan to defeat the enemy and free this Abbey. Martha, Toran, Sister Portula, Brother Weld, would you come, too? I’d like you to take part in the discussion.”

  That night, in the quiet of the storeroom, they formulated their plans. Lonna’s status as a seasoned warrior, and his expertise in the ways of his enemy Searats, earned him the main say in the discussion. His ideas made sense to his fr
iends, although his first words were in the form of a request.

  “I need more arrows, good stout shafts, and well pointed. Have you any in the building?”

  Toran answered. “I’m sorry, Lonna, we haven’t, but I can look for some wood and make your arrows.”

  Brother Weld interrupted the ottercook. “Last winter, Brother Gelf and I found an ash tree, which had collapsed outside the east wall. Skipper and his otters helped us to chop the trunk into firelogs. Gelf and I took about six sheaves of long branches from it and bundled them up. We planned on cutting them into smaller sizes to use in the orchard, for fencing and propping up berry vines. But we never got round to it. They’re still piled up under the belltower stairs. Those ash branches will be well seasoned now, perfect for making arrows!”

  Toran patted Weld’s back. “Good work, Brother, bring them to the wine cellar. Pore Junty Cellarhog had a little forge and anvil down there. I can make arrowheads from barrel-stave iron, Junty kept a whole stock o’ the stuff.”

  Lonna looked from one to the other enquiringly. “Flights?”

  Sister Portula had an immediate answer. “There’s a whole cupboardful of grey goose feathers in my room. I’ll be glad to see the last of them. Two autumns back, Sister Setiva fixed the wing of a gosling, whose father was the leader of a goose skein. The geese were so grateful that they donated a load of loose feathers to me. I was supposed to cut the ends and use them as writing quills. Dearie me, they gave us enough for ten recorders to use for seven lifetimes. Please, Lonna, would you take them? If you’ll relieve me of the burden, I’ll recruit a team of elders to shape and bind them to your arrow shafts.”

  The badger agreed readily. “Thank you, Sister, there’s no better flight for a shaft than a goose feather. I’ve been using gull feathers from the northeast shores, but they don’t have the strength and firmness of good goose plumage.”

  Martha spoke. “You’ll have a full supply of arrows, Lonna.”

  Stretched out on a heap of clean sacks, the big badger gazed up at the ceiling, sure now of what he was going to do. “Nobeast can live without food and water. Martha, I want you and a few others to patrol the windows all around the Abbey, where the Searats would find things to eat or drink.”

  The haremaid replied. “You mean the orchard and the Abbey pond? There’s also a vegetable garden adjoining the orchard. Since the Searats arrived, they’ve taken water and fished from the pond, and as for the orchard, they’re hardly ever out of there and the vegetable garden. Isn’t that right, Father?”

  Carrul clenched his jaw. “Correct, Martha. Those scum! I dread to think of the state our crops will be in. After all the hard work Redwallers did. Well, Lonna, you’ll have a fair view of it. Orchard, vegetable patch and pond—they are all clearly visible from our south-facing windows.”

  Lonna reached for his bow and began running a small piece of beeswax up and down the string. “Perfect. How many arrows have I left in my quiver, Toran?”

  The ottercook took a look and returned grinning. “Twenty-three . . . and a molebabe. Muggum’s sleeping in there!” The little mole grumbled dozily as Sister Portula extricated him. “Oi got to stop urr. Lonn’ bee’s sleepin’ in moi bed!”

  Abbot Carrul took charge of the molebabe. “Then you can sleep in my big armchair, you rascal. In fact, I think it’s time we all got a rest, there’s lots to do once the day breaks. Right, Lonna?”

  Bloodred tinges suffused the badger’s eyes, his bowstring twanging aloud as he tested it. He gritted one word from between his clenched teeth. “Right!”

  The Abbot hurriedly ushered his charges from the storeroom. “We’ll leave you to your sleep now, friend. Goodnight.”

  There was no reply. Closing the door behind them, Toran the ottercook exchanged meaningful glances with the Abbot. “Did ye see that, Father? Lonna’s possessed of the Bloodwrath!”

  Martha looked from one to the other, perplexed. “What’s the Bloodwrath, some sort of sickness?”

  Toran grasped her paw so hard that she winced. “Lissen to me, young ’un. You stay out o’ that beast’s way until his eyes clear up again. Badgers ain’t responsible for wot they do when Bloodwrath comes upon ’em, d’ye hear?”

  The haremaid managed a frightened little nod. “Lonna wouldn’t hurt us, would he?”

  The Abbot signalled Toran and the others to their beds. He walked through Great Hall with Martha, who was carrying the sleeping molebabe.

  Carrul talked quietly with her. “Do as Toran has told you, pretty one. Only be close to Lonna when you have to. Creatures such as us know little of Bloodwrath, but grown badgers of his size can be very dangerous to anybeast when it strikes them. Take your friends tomorrow, patrol the south windows on the first and second floor. The moment you sight Searats in the grounds, report straight to Lonna. Then get out of the way. Redwallers have no business hanging around a badger who is taken by Bloodwrath. Believe me, Martha, I tell you that Lonna needs to avenge himself and his dead friend upon Raga Bol and his crew. He is here for no other reason. Go to your bed now and remember what I have said.”

  Carrul took the sleeping Muggum from Martha and went into his room. The haremaid looked up at the figure of Martin the Warrior on his tapestry. There was no need of visitations or dream speeches from the gallant protector of Redwall. His eyes seemed to say it all. She bowed respectfully to Martin, then went to her bed, still puzzled but obedient to her Abbot and the guiding spirit of her Abbey.

  Death came to Redwall at dawn. A Searat came bursting into the gatehouse and raised Raga Bol from the bed where he had lain sprawled and twitching in broken dreams. “Cap’n, the stripedog’s just kilt Cullo an’ Baleclaw. They was fishin’ in the pond an’ ’e slayed ’em both wid one arrer!”

  Bol came upright, his silver hook thrusting through the rat’s baggy shirt as he dragged him forward. “Killed ’em wid one arrer! Have ye been at the grog agin, Griml?”

  The rat wailed. “I saw it meself, Cap’n. They was stannin’ in the water, one afront o’ the other, when a big arrer pins ’em both through their neckscruffs, like fishes on a reed!”

  Bol thrust Griml roughly out the gatehouse. “Rally the crew, an’ fetch Wirga t’me. Move yourself!”

  Griml’s mate, Deadtooth, was crouching beside the wallsteps. He, too, had witnessed the slaying of two Searats with one arrow. Deadtooth caught up with Griml. “Wot did Bol say?”

  Griml shrugged unhappily. “Not much, just booted me out an’ tole me t’bring the crew an’ fetch Wirga.”

  Deadtooth persisted. “Don’t the Cap’n know Wirga’s dead? They found ’er just as it went light. Somebeast ’ad knocked the daylights outer ’er agin the wall. But ye knew that, didn’t ye? Yew shoulda told Bol.”

  Griml nervously looked this way and that. “Hah, yew go an’ tell ’im, if’n ye dare. I don’t want no silver ’ook guttin’ me. I wish we was afloat at sea, like last springtime. I tell ye, mate, we’ve ’ad nought but bad luck since we dropped anchor in this rotten place!”

  Griml caught sight of several Searats emerging from behind a small ornamental hedge where they had been sleeping. “Ahoy, youse lot, Cap’n wants ter see ye, right now at the gate’ouse, ye best jump to it . . .”

  There was a piercing scream from the orchard as a crewrat staggered out, transfixed by an arrow. Still holding a half-ripe pear in his claws, he took one more pace and crumpled in a still heap. Griml gestured at him wildly. “See, wot did I tell ye? There’s Rotpaw gone now, a good ole messmate like ’im, off to ’ellgates afore a bite o’ brekkist passed ’is pore lips. I said this place is bad luck, didn’t I?”

  38

  Having camped by the rocks and spent the night there, the travellers got their first clear view of them at sunrise next morn. Fenna found Horty, who had already risen, blowing on the embers of the previous night’s fire and adding twigs to rekindle the flames. In high spirits, the young hare waved his ears at her.

  “Mornin’, fair Fenn’. Lots of twigs blown up against the
rocks by the blinkin’ wind, wot. Jolly useful to a first-class rivercook. What ho, you lazy lot, rise’n’shine, eh! So, here we are at the old Badger an’ Bell. Thoughtful cove, whoever named ’em—they look just like an enormous bloomin’ bell an’ a blinkin’ huge badger’s bonce!”

  Springald blinked sleep from her eyes and gave Horty a sidelong glance. “Really, have you just noticed that?”

  Saro got between them. “Don’t start again, you two. Horty, ole scout, ole lad, ole boy, wot’s for breakfast?”

  The garrulous hare giggled. “Heeheehee, would you believe fried fruit salad, marm?”

  Springald came wide awake then. “Horty, you’re joking?”

  Bragoon had sidled up. With the tip of his sword he speared a slice of plum from the flat rock that served as a frying pan. The otter chewed it pensively. “Our cook ain’t jokin’, marm. Hmm, it don’t taste too bad!”

  As Saro tried a morsel, winks were exchanged all round, behind Horty’s back. The aging squirrel merely nodded. “I suppose y’can’t be too picky out in this country. I’ve ate worse an’ survived.”

  Fenna prodded at the food with a twig. “Do we have to eat it?”

  Closing her eyes, Springald gulped a piece down. “It’s either that or starve. Fried fruit salad? Only a hare could think up a breakfast like that!” Horty’s ears rose like flagstaffs and his cheeks bulged out. The outraged hare was about to give them a piece of his mind, when something out on the wasteland distracted his attention.

  “Cads! Bounders! You rotten, ungrateful . . . I say, chaps, is that somebeast crouchin’ down out there?”

  Bragoon leaped up, wiping his swordblade. “Come on, let’s find out!”

  They spread out and made for the distant shape. Slowly and cautiously they approached the object. Then Fenna, who had the best eyesight, ran forward, calling to them. “That’s no crouching beast, it’s nothing but a big battered old tree stump!”

  The fragmented piece of conifer stood almost as tall as Bragoon’s shoulder. He tapped it with his sword.