Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  There they were! Two Brownrats, tall, slim vermin, running swiftly from tree to tree, pausing briefly to loose off arrows in the direction of the runaways. Now Luglug stopped, looking back at Maudie and calling, “What are ye doin’, miz?”

  Both the Brownrats were close enough to hear him. In a trice they had loosed off the shafts, which were lying ready on their bowstrings. Maudie ran without looking back, straight for the rats. The first one had another arrow almost ready to fire as the haremaid hit him like a thunderbolt. He collapsed to the ground immediately. Maudie grabbed his bow, whipped about to face the other, sighted and fired. The shaft struck true. With a strangled cry the other rat went down, grasping the shaft, which protruded from his neck.

  Then the main body came running into view. Maudie dropped the bow and ran. Luglug was leaning against the riven oak, with Yik still on his shoulders. He was gasping heavily. Grunting with the effort, he lifted Yik free, holding him out to the haremaid. “You’d better carry…”

  Maudie grabbed the Guosim infant, then saw the broken arrow buried deep between the Guosim chieftain’s shoulder blades, as he turned and slid slowly down the tree trunk. Half drawing his rapier, he gasped, “Take it to Osbil, save the little ’un….” His head fell limply to one side as his eyes clouded over and he gave one last sigh.

  There was no time to think. Maudie could make out the faces of the vermin as they came hurrying forward, shouting and yelling. Grabbing the rapier from Luglug’s lifeless paw, she swung Yik up on her shoulders and ran. The sight of their victims-to-be spurred the Brownrats forward. However, they reckoned without the speed and determination of a Long Patrol hare. Mad Maudie Mugsberry Thropple ran as she had never run before. The shrewbabe on her shoulders hung on for dear life, with the night breeze blowing his fur back flat.

  Out of the woodlands the haremaid rocketed, onto the flatland facing the Abbey’s south wall. Her footpaws drummed the earth as she sped onward, with a screeching horde hard on her trail. “Eulaliiiaaaa Redwaaaaallll!” Maudie roared.

  Skipper, Benjo, Barbowla and several stout young otters of the Boulderdog family came hurtling out through the south wallgate, running toward the haremaid who was speeding toward them. They shot right past her, halted, then flung a salvo of otter javelins. Unable to stop, the Brownrats stumbled over the bodies of the leading seven vermin who had fallen to the deadly, light throwing weapons.

  It halted the horde only for an instant, but that was the short, vital time that saved Maudie and Yik. They were hauled through the gateway by willing paws, who slammed the little door shut as soon as the otters were safe inside. Now slingstones pelted like rain from the walltops, driving back those they did not slay or injure. A great cry rang from the ramparts. “Redwaaaaaaalllll!”

  A shrewmum took little Yik from Maudie’s shoulders as the haremaid collapsed upon the ground. She was sucking in great gulps of air, her entire body quivering from the heroic efforts of her mighty run. Rangval and several of the Guosim defenders hastened from the walltop to congratulate Maudie.

  The roguish squirrel pumped her paw and pounded her back heartily. “Ah shure, that was a grand ould run, with a horde o’ rascals behind ye, an’ carryin’ a passenger, too. Not even their arrows could keep up with ye!”

  Osbil was among the welcoming committee, Maudie passed Luglug’s rapier to him. A silence fell over the shrews. Osbil stared at the blade for awhile, then his eyes met Maudie’s gaze. Their exchange was subdued and brief. “Luglug?”

  The haremaid nodded. “He was slain by an arrow. I had to leave him by the riven oak. They were almost upon us, I had to run with the little ’un.”

  Osbil ran his paw gently along the blade. “Did he die instantly?”

  Breathing easier now, Maudie hauled herself upright. “He did indeed, or I wouldn’t have left his side. We might’ve made it if he hadn’t insisted on carryin’ Yik. Right up to the moment he was hit, he refused to pass the little chap over to me. Why?”

  Osbil was blinking back tears, but his voice was steady. “Because every Guosim is the responsibility of his chieftain. Luglug was duty-bound to carry Yik. Now I must go an’ tell the rest of my tribe. Thank ye for bringin’ me his blade, miz.”

  Maudie watched Osbil ascending the wallstairs. “Wonder why Luglug wanted me t’give him the sword?”

  Teagle, one of the coracle paddlers, explained. “Luglug wanted Osbil t’be our new chieftain. That’s Guosim law, the father passes his title on to the eldest offspring.”

  Maudie was surprised. “You mean Osbil is Luglug’s son?”

  Teagle wiped a paw across her eyes and sniffed. “Aye, an’ a good son, too, miz, an’ he’ll make a fine Log a Log, just like his ole dad. Ye’ll excuse me now, I’ve got to join my tribe for the Bladechant.”

  Piqued by curiosity, Maudie followed Teagle up to the south rampart, where she witnessed the strange Guosim ritual. Osbil was standing up between the battlements, in full view of the attacking Brownrats, singing a loud, dirgelike challenge, kissing the rapier blade, then pointing it toward the foe as he sang out threateningly. The Guosim warriors swayed slowly, chanting the chorus.

  “I am Chieftain, son of Chieftains,

  look upon my father’s blade,

  hark you vermin, spawn of darkness,

  Guosim come now, be afraid!

  “Hi hey oh Log a Log

  Guosim hi hey ooooooooh!

  “We will send your bones to Hellgates,

  every single evil one,

  bitter tears with blood must mingle,

  ere your debt is paid and done!

  “Hi hey oh Log a Log

  Guosim hi hey ooooooooh!

  “We are Guosim, born of Guosim,

  all our words and steel are true,

  none of ye will be left standin’

  that’s a warrior’s vow to you!

  “Hi hey oh Log a Log

  Guosim hi hey ooooooooh!”

  It was the most eerie thing Maudie had ever heard. Osbil was pointing at the Brownrats with his rapier, as the Guosim fighters either side of him swayed like a field of corn before the gale. So uncanny was the sight and sound that both the Redwallers on the rampart and the Brownrats below on the common land ceased fighting, they stood silently watching.

  Then Osbil broke the spell. Leaping down from the battlements, he shook his blade on high, and roared in an ululating voice, which was taken up by all the shrew tribe, “Logalogalogalogaloooooog!”

  Then the horrifying reality caught Skipper, he thundered down the wallstairs, shouting, “Bar the gate, they’re goin’ to charge out an’ meet the vermin head-on!”

  Rangval swiftly shot the bolts tight on the wallgate. Maudie, Skipper and Benjo ran ahead of the Guosim to render assistance. Barbowla and some of his family joined them, the big otter shook his head in disbelief. “Those shrews must be mad. They’re outnumbered by vermin at least ten to one, an’ they want to charge out an’ do battle with ’em!”

  Osbil came pounding down to the gate backed by his tribe, every one of them brandishing drawn blades. He bared his teeth at the guardians of the gate. “Stand clear, ye can’t stop a Guosim once the Bladechant’s been given. We’d be cowards if’n we didn’t fight those stinkin’ vermin after our Log a Log’s been slain by ’em!”

  Maudie stood forward until Osbil’s blade was touching her. “Aye, and you’d be fat-headed dead fools if you did. Take it from me, old lad, you ain’t goin’ anywhere, an’ I’m jolly well sayin’ that for your own good, wot!”

  It was a tense moment. The haremaid could feel the rapier point at her throat. Osbil meant business.

  “Put that sword down at once. How dare you raise a weapon at a friend inside my Abbey? Put it down, I say!” Abbot Daucus pushed his way through the massed shrews, his face a mask of icy severity. Disregarding the rapier, he struck it to one side.

  Osbil scowled darkly. “This is a Guosim thing, Father. It ain’t yore quarrel!”

  Daucus thrust his chin forward fearlessl
y. “Oh, isn’t it? Well, I’m making it my quarrel. As Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey, I command that you cease this foolishness forthwith. Is that clear?”

  Osbil began to wilt. He was still a young shrew, and in the face of the Abbot’s superior authority, he became unsure of himself. He replied with a touch of pleading in his tone. “But Father, we’ve sung the Bladechant, we lose face an’ honour if’n we don’t go now!”

  Daucus began to feel pity for the young shrew, who had just been made Log a Log of his tribe. However, he was not about to back down to Osbil. “Hmm, loss of honour and face, I see. But are there no exceptional circumstances which might call the whole thing off, can you think of anything?”

  On a flash of inspiration, Maudie interrupted. “Beg pardon, Father, I’ve just thought of a jolly wheeze, er, I mean, an answer to the problem.” The haremaid edged a little closer to Osbil. “Er, suppose, just suppose I say, that you, bein’ the bloomin’ high old Logathing, were incapacitated?”

  Not comprehending the word, Osbil repeated it. “Incapacitated?”

  Maudie edged closer. “Indeed, incapacitated, you know, too hurt or injured to lead the charge. Could your chaps go out there to battle the vermin?”

  Osbil shook his head. “Not unless they were led by their Log a Log, our law wouldn’t allow that y’see…” Suddenly he sagged, Maudie quickly supported him, but he was unconscious, out cold. The haremaid’s face was the picture of innocence.

  “Good grief, the poor chap’s just swooned. Fainted away as sudden as y’like, wot?”

  The Guosim began crowding round anxiously, but Rangval took over officiously. “Shure, have ye got no sense, crowdin’ round the pore beast like that, give him some air. Skipper, will ye take ’em up on the walltops agin, at least they can fight the durty ould vermin from up there wid slingstones. Go on now, buckoes, the Father Abbot’ll do a grand job of lookin’ after yore chief, hurry along now!”

  The Guosim hesitated a moment, until Skipper mounted the wallsteps, goading them. “Don’t waste yore breath, friend, there’s plenty o’ our Redwallers up there, if’n the shrews are afraid to go!”

  In an instant he was thrust to one side, as the fiercely proud Guosim stampeded en masse up the steps. Aided by Foremole, the Abbot carried Osbil to the Abbey, for Sister Atrata’s attention. Foremole Burff shook his dark velvety head. “Burr, oi do ’opes thurr bee’s nuthin’ badly amiss with ee pore beast, a-swoonin’ away loike that.”

  Abbot Daucus was plainly perplexed by the incident. “Indeed, quite unusual for one so young and healthy. Still, it did solve a problem for us, didn’t it?”

  Back at the wallsteps, Rangval treated Maudie to a huge, sly wink, having seen the truth of it all. “Shure, I’ve seen lightnin’ strikin’ a lot slower than that, marm. Why, that was the swiftest an’ neatest ould knockout punch I’ve ever had the pleasure of seein’. Faith, if’n I’d have winked I would’ve missed it!”

  The haremaid threw a paw about the squirrel’s shoulders, whispering as she drew him close, “Keep your blinkin’ voice down, old scout, we don’t want the whole bloomin’ Abbey t’know. Actually, I was only carryin’ out me duty, as t’were, doin’ what had t’be done, eh wot!” She stifled a giggle.

  “’Twas rather a scorcher of an uppercut, even though I say it m’self. Even better’n the one I gave big Blinky Swiffleton when I first won the Inter Barracks Title. Nice chap, old Blinky, took an absolute age before he could see straight again, prob’ly how he got the name Blinky, wot!”

  Rangval curled his tail in admiration of Maudie. “A real live boxin’ hare, eh! Ah, ’tis a pleasure to see a perilous young darlin’ like yoreself at work, marm!”

  Maudie gave his shoulder a squeeze, imitating his brogue. “Get away, ye hard-faced rogue, yore no slouch yerself from wot I’ve seen of yore ould tricks! C’mon, shall we toddle up t’the walltop, just t’see how the battle’s goin’ on?”

  The squirrel made a sweeping bow, indicating the steps. “After you, me long-eared, wallopin’ beauty!”

  23

  The impetus of furious Guosim stone slingers added to the Redwall defenders had worked like a charm. Gruntan Kurdly had not yet arrived on the scene, and as a result of the ferocious retaliation from the south battlements, the few Brownrats with any authority were thoroughly cowed. Even with their superior numbers, they could make no impression on the high stone walls. So they did what was customary, retreated into the relative safety of the woodland trees, and sat waiting the arrival of their leader.

  Skipper greeted Maudie and Rangval, pointing to the deserted field of conflict below. “I think they’ve had enough for now, mates. Though we’ll stay alert up here an’ see wot the dawn brings, eh?”

  Friar Chondrus hailed them from the Abbey lawn. “Hello up there, are ye too busy fighting, or could you manage a bite o’ supper?”

  Rubbing his paws with anticipation, Barbowla shouted back as he ushered several of his family to the steps, “Ho, I think we could manage to nibble a few vittles, sir. I’m sendin’ a few down t’lend a paw to ye!”

  Much to the delight of the otters there was a big cauldron of their favourite soup, watershrimp’n’hotroot. The Guosim were very partial to a small cask of October Ale, plus a tray or two of shallot and mushroom pasties. There was white cheese with hazelnuts, apple and plum dumplings, a latticed pear tart with meadowcream, golden-crusted bread, hot from the ovens, and a choice of blackberry cordial or coltsfoot tea.

  The cheese was almost melting as Skipper put it on his hot bread. He dipped the lot into his hotroot soup, exclaiming before he wolfed it down, “Eat hearty, mates, but tell me this. Wot beast in his right mind would allow a load o’ scruffy vermin inside Redwall to steal this scoff from us, eh?”

  Barbowla’s sturdy wife, Kachooch, helped herself to a pastie. “I’d let ’em in, but not to eat the vittles. I’d use their heads’n’tails to scrub the pots out with!”

  Roars of laughter rose to the summer night’s sky. Maudie sat with Rangval and a young hedgehog, who introduced himself as Orkwil Prink. The haremaid sampled everything eagerly, commenting on each dish. “Absolutely topping, I must get the recipe for this pear’n’cream thing, and these pasties, top marks, I’d say! Steady the buffs! Now that’s a real drop o’ soup, watershrimp’n’hotroot, d’ye say? Hah, I wouldn’t mind bein’ a bloomin’ otter if I could have this twice daily. Well, chaps, I only came here to find a blinkin’ badger, but I’d have applied to be born at Redwall if the tucker’s all as good as this!”

  Skipper’s two daughters, Folura and Glingol, were charming some of Barbowla’s sons, they began tapping on two wooden bowls, singing a jolly song.

  “I once knew an otter who liked apple pie,

  why oh why, my oh my,

  he could eat it both night and day,

  if you asked him why he ate apple pie,

  he’d laugh and he would say,

  An apple’s an apple, it ain’t a pear,

  some grows here an’ some grows there,

  bake ’em up in a pie an’ serve it to me,

  No strawberry y’see ever grew on a tree,

  no sir no, dearie me,

  strawberries don’t grow in that way,

  while carrots are found growing underground,

  ’cos that’s a carrot’s way,

  some grow up and some grow down,

  we gather them when the harvest comes round,

  then the cook hangs ’em all in his old pan…tree

  and we go to sleep in a dormi…tree!”

  Using their rudders against the parapet stones, the sons of Barbowla applauded both ottermaids enthusiastically. Then, to display how tough and fearless they were, the young male otters began climbing on the battlements, and slinging stones at the woodland fringes. Naturally, they injured no Brownrats, who had retreated out of slinging range. Skipper’s daughters looked suitably impressed, fluttering their eyelashes at every opportunity.

  Maudie found herself sitting between Orkwil and Be
njo Tipps. Being a hare, she was still doing full justice to the remains of supper, having exchanged introductions with the Redwallers whilst still expressing her appreciation of Abbey food. “By the left! I could get rather used to this scoff, is it always this good, Orkwil, old lad?”

  The young hedgehog picked a crumb from his spikes. “Oh, this was just a quick meal the Friar and his helpers threw together. We weren’t expectin’ guests, y’see, or it would have been more carefully prepared. Er, by the way, Maudie, did I hear you say that you came here to find a badger?”

  Maudie ran her paw around the rim of the empty soup cauldron, licking it longingly. “Oh, that? Well, yes, I have, actually. Secret mission from Salamandastron, all very hush hush, wot. Old Lord Asheye, he’s my C.O. doncha know, sent me specially, prob’ly ’cos I’m jolly good at that sort o’ thing. I don’t suppose you’ve stumbled across this badger chap. Huge type, typical badger, wot. He’s supposed not t’be a great lover of swords an’ armour, simple salt o’ the earth type, or so I’m led t’believe. Funny thing though, he’s supposed to carry a flame an’ walk with a thief. Sounds jolly silly, doesn’t it, but who am I to argue? Badger Lord an’ Major Mullein pleaded with me on bended paw. So I had to agree t’the task, I mean, what’s a chappess t’do, wot!”

  Maudie was totally unprepared for what Orkwil said next. “The badger’s name is Gorath, he’s up in Sister Atrata’s sickbay, resting. It was me who brought him to Redwall.”

  Three things happened then. Maudie’s ears stood up rigid, her eyes bulged wide and her mouth fell open. “You wha…Gorbadge in sick ratata bestray, an’ you red him to broughtwall!”

  Benjo Tipps chortled aloud at the sight and sound of the haremaid’s confusion. “Better watch ye don’t trip up over yore tongue an’ fall down the steps, missy. Well, don’t just sit there, young Prink, take the maid up to see yore badger friend. I’m sure she might start talkin’ sense after a calmin’ stroll o’er the lawn an’ through our Abbey.”