Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  Gruntan belched, then spat out another fishbone. “Wot sort o’ giant madbeast?”

  Stringle backed away even further. “One o’ those stripe’ounds, but big as a tree, wid red eyes. Stabbin’ away at us with ’is big fork an’ shoutin’!”

  Gruntan halted his captain’s flow again. “Wot was ’e shoutin’?”

  Stringle replied promptly, “Yooleeyayleeyer!”

  The Brownrat chieftain jiggled a grimy claw in one ear, staring hard at Stringle. “Yoolerwot? Say that agin.”

  Throwing back his head, and cupping both paws around his mouth for maximum effect, Stringle bellowed, “Yoooooleeeeyayleeeyaaaaaar!”

  Gruntan winced at the volume of the piercing sound. “Wot’s it supposed t’mean?”

  One of Stringle’s command ventured a reply. “Some kinda war cry, prob’ly.”

  Gruntan stared directly at the speaker. “War cry, eh, an’ wot size d’ye say this stripe’ound was?”

  The Brownrat soldier, who wished he had never spoken, echoed Stringle’s original words. “’E was a giant, Boss, wirra great, big fork!”

  Gruntan addressed his next remark to all the vermin. “Bigger’n me, was ’e?” It was common knowledge that the Brownrat leader could not stand the thought of anybeast being bigger than him. He was exceedingly vain about his size.

  The horde hesitated, but Stringle shook his head. “Nah, nobeast’s bigger’n the great Gruntan Kurdly!”

  Swelling out his enormous stomach proudly, Gruntan pronounced, “Hah, then that must make me a giant. That don’t make yore stripe’ound sound so big, do it?”

  Stringle shook his head miserably, knowing he had fallen into the trap. “No, Boss, ’e ain’t so big.”

  “Shame on youse all fer runnin’ away from ’im then. Take ’em back out agin, Stringle, find the stripe’ound, bring me back ’is big fork, an’ ’is skull, or ’is skin’n’bones, I don’t care which, as long as ye slays the beast. Huh, Gruntan Kurdly ain’t havin’ giant stripe’ounds runnin’ round ’is territory!”

  Disobedience was out of the question. Stringle marched out at the head of his dispirited troop, back to the ditchbed.

  Having dismissed them, Gruntan turned his attention to what he viewed as more important matters. “Now, about those eggs I mentioned, Laggle, where are they? Stir yore stumps, ye ole bat!”

  The more Abbot Daucus saw of the Tabura, the more he was glad that the old badger had professed a wish to stay at Redwall as a healer and dispenser of wisdom. Even the Abbey Dibbuns had fallen under the spell of the charismatic Tabura. At the moment, he was seated by the pond, surrounded by young ones, and quite a few elders. Daucus joined them, listening intently as the wise badger held forth on the merits of simplicity. He took a russet apple, snapping it into two halves with a twist of his powerful paws. The Tabura sniffed the peach-hued flesh of the russet and sighed. “Ah, the scent of quiet autumn afternoon!” Dibbuns crowded around to smell the apple, as the Tabura continued. “And the taste, my friends, it is different to all other apples, try it.” He smiled as the Abbeybabes lined up to take a nibble, each one pronouncing an opinion.

  “Umyum, tasters very nice an’ sweet!”

  “Bo urr, oi do loikes a gudd h’apple, zurr!”

  The Tabura passed them the other half. “There are many ways that your Friar and his cooks can use a russet apple, in sauces, pies, crumbles, fruit salads, or baked in honey and spices. Each of these ways produces a delicious new taste for us. But, if you are really hungry, there’s only one way to really enjoy a good russet apple.”

  Dawbil the molebabe wrinkled her little snout. “Ho aye, an’ wot way bee’s that, gurt zurr?”

  The Tabura allowed Dawbil to scramble onto his lap as he explained. “Just pick the apple from the tree, take a crust of newbaked bread and a wedge of ripe cheese, then eat them all, a bite from each at a time. Apple, crusty bread and cheese.”

  Abbot Daucus nodded. “Right, Tabura, I’ve done it myself, many a time. There’s no taste quite like it!”

  The old badger looked around at his audience. “Father Abbot is right, life’s greatest pleasures are the simple ones. A drink of cold, clear streamwater when you’re hot and thirsty, or apple, cheese and bread when you feel the need of plain, homely food.”

  Granspike Niblo stood up, straightening her apron. “By golly, sir, you’ve made me feel quite ’ungry, a-talkin’ like that. Those russets in the orchard ain’t ready yet, but Friar Chondrus has a big barrel of ’em, from last autumn, in his kitchen. I’m sure he could spare us some bread an’ cheese. Would you little ’uns like t’come with me?”

  There was an immediate clamour from the Dibbuns. As they set off in Granspike’s wake for the kitchens, a Guosim sentry came running from the west wall. Osbil had been part of the Tabura’s audience, the sentry hurried to his side, muttering urgently, “Come t’the walltop, Chief, we’ve just spotted vermin!”

  Keeping low along with the other wallguards, the Guosim chieftain peered between the battlements following the sentry’s directions.

  “See there, just to the north, crossin’ the path from the ditch, ’tis the Brownrats!”

  Osbil watched. Stringle, Kurdly’s second in command, was herding scores of Brownrats across the path and into the cover of Mossflower Woods.

  The sentry shrew whispered, “Wot d’ye suppose those scum-faced murderers are up to?”

  Osbil’s teeth ground together audibly. “I don’t care wot they’re up to, we’re goin’ to be on them like wasps on honey, mate. Now’s our chance. Rigril, Teagle, gather our Guosim. I want ’em armed t’the teeth and silent as pike in a midnight stream. Move lively now, we don’t want to lose those villains!”

  On hearing what had taken place, the Tabura, the Abbot and Skipper made their way to the north wallgate. The Guosim chieftain was marshalling the few late arrivals before setting forth.

  Daucus, whilst not barring the shrew’s way, tried reasoning with Osbil. “Think first, Log a Log Osbil, you haven’t got the numbers to face the Brownrat horde.”

  Osbil smiled coldly. “We ain’t goin’ to face ’em, Father, this is goin t’be an ambush, hit and run, my Guosim’ll defeat the vermin in any way we can.”

  Barbowla placed a paw on the Guosim chieftain’s shoulder. “Me’n Kachooch started this journey with you and we would be proud to come along. Skipper here will take charge of my otters, my band will stay as defenders at Redwall.”

  Osbil grasped Barbowla’s paw. “Thank you, friend.”

  The Tabura stared levelly at Osbil. “Your friends are giving you good advice, young one. It is a dangerous course you are bound on.”

  Osbil had his paw on the wallgate latch. “But it is one that I must follow. This sword at my side, it was my father’s blade. He was murdered by Brownrats. I am now Log a Log, as he was. It is Guosim law that he must be avenged, we have sung our Bladechant, yet his killers still live. Such a thing brings shame to me and my tribe. Can you understand, Tabura?”

  The old badger clamped his paw over that of the shrew. He gave one swift tug, and the wallgate stood open wide. “I understand you completely, my young friend. Go now, exact the price of your father’s blood from his killers! Banish shame and live on in honour. But remember this, do not let the enemy get behind you, sleep with one eye open and your blade drawn. May fortune go with you!”

  Osbil saluted with his father’s rapier. “And may wisdom attend your words always, Tabura, sir!”

  A moment later the shrews and otters vanished into the fastnesses of the vast woodland.

  BOOK THREE

  The Battle of the Plateau

  31

  The great sword of Martin the Warrior sheared through the bonds which held Maudie, Rangval and Orkwil suspended from the tree. They were immediately surrounded by the Blugullet’s crew.

  Vizka Longtooth snapped out orders. “Chop dat branch down an’ yoke dem by dere necks to it!” The branch was promptly hacked down. Vizka spoke to his captives as they were ro
ughly bound neck and paws to it. “T’ought ya was goin’ ter die, didn’t ya?”

  Maudie could not resist a cool reply. “Actually, somethin’ like that did speed through my agile, young brain, old thing. Rangval, d’you think our friend’s savin’ us for some fairly dreadful jape, wot?”

  The rogue squirrel sighed. “Sure an’ why wouldn’t he, him bein’ a double-dyed villain. I wouldn’t put anythin’ like that past him.”

  They were now standing shoulder to shoulder, with their paws and necks tied tightly to the branch.

  The golden fox showed his long fangs in a sinister grin. “Ya won’t be talkin’ so fancy when I’m finished wid ya. We’re takin’ ya back to de Abbey, we’ll see wot good friends ye’ve got dere. If’n dey don’t open d’gates an’ let us in fer a visit—”

  Maudie interrupted. “Wait, don’t tell me, you’ll stamp your paws a lot, an’ never speak to them again. Right?”

  Vizka shook his head, still grinning. “Wrong, ’cos iffen dey don’t open der gates, I’ll roast an’ skin ya. Right in front o’ dem same gates.” Brandishing his new sword in a flashing arc, Vizka signalled his crew. “Bring ’em along, we’re bound for de Abbey. Steer clear o’ dat ditch an’ stay to der woodlands. March!”

  Orkwil had to march almost tip-paw, even though both his friends crouched slightly to assist him. The young hedgehog had been warned not to mention the sword, but he could not take his eyes off Martin’s blade. He strained his neck to one side, muttering to Maudie, “We’ve got to get the sword, an’ make a break for it!”

  Keeping her gaze straight ahead, the haremaid replied, “Certainly, old scout, but not right away. That foxy cad’s a bit too taken with the sword, watch the way he swings it about. He’d probably chop us into fishbait if we tried anything too soon. Give it a little while yet, then we’ll see what we can jolly well do, wot!”

  A surly looking weasel slammed his spearbutt into Maudie’s back. “Shut ya gabblin’ an git marchin’, rabbet!”

  Despite the pain from the cruel blow, the haremaid managed to wink cheerily at him. “Right you are, sah, this rabbit’s marchin’, wot! But before our little jaunt’s over, I’d like a word with you. Just the two of us, in private, eh.”

  Some distance to the south, the two badgers sat down near a sandstone outcrop. Salixa produced a flask of pennycloud cordial, passing it to Gorath. “Would you like something to eat?” Her companion seemed somewhat preoccupied, he merely took a gulp from the flask, returning it with a nod of thanks. The young badgermaid tried not to stare at Gorath. He turned, facing the way they had come. His eyes roved restlessly as he touched the deep crimson scar on his brow. Salixa glanced anxiously at him. “Is your wound hurting you? It always looks so red and sore. If you like, I’ll go and find some herbs to treat it.”

  Gorath gave her one of his quick rare smiles. “No thank you, the wound hardly ever hurts me now. Sometimes it will itch slightly, when I feel uneasy.”

  The slender badgermaid’s voice sounded sad. “Is it me? I’m sorry if I make you feel uneasy….”

  Gorath’s mighty paw covered hers, gently. “Oh no, you could never make me feel uneasy, in fact I’ve never felt so happy as when I’m with you. Salixa, look at me, I’m uneasy because we’re being watched. No, don’t look where I’m looking, just keep holding my paw and walk with me.”

  Salixa kept her gaze trustingly on Gorath. “Where are we going, are we still being watched?”

  As they walked he nodded, answering her as if keeping up some trivial chat. “We’re going to climb these sandstone ledges, all the way to the top. I’ve seen who is on our trail, it’s those Brownrats. By the way the bushes are moving there’s a lot of them, but I can defend our position from the top of those rocks.”

  As he helped her onto the ledges, Salixa replied, “Gorath, are you going to take the Bloodwrath?”

  He swung her effortlessly up to the next level. “I can feel it beginning to press down on me, but it would be a mistake to give in to Bloodwrath. If anything happened to me, then what would become of you?”

  The badgermaid clasped her big friend’s paw tightly. “The Tabura has given you wise advice, Gorath.”

  Using his pitchfork, Tung, he vaulted onto a higher ledge. Salixa held onto the fork handle as he hauled her up. Gorath nodded. “Aye, the Tabura is wisdom itself, I wish I had met him long ago. Only a short way to climb now. We’d best hurry, I think they’re coming.”

  Slingstones and a few arrows bounced off the ledges. Stringle stayed among the bushes, urging his Brownrats forward, starting up a warchant as they charged the ledges. “Kurdly! Kurdly! Kill kill kill! Yeeeeaaaaahhh!”

  Gorath pushed Salixa onto the plateau, leaping up beside her. “Keep your head down, they’re shooting stones and shafts at us!”

  Salixa immediately proved she was no helpless maid. Unwinding a slingshot from her slender waist, she gathered up a few of the hard streambed pebbles which had been thrown by the Brownrats and began retaliating vigorously. Gorath ranged the surface of the plateau, checking that there was no easy way up.

  Stringle had not relished the idea of meeting up with the giant stripehound, more so when he saw there were now two of them. Admittedly, the female was much smaller and slimmer, but who could tell with stripehounds, maybe they were all berserk warriors. However, the moment he saw both beasts running off to safety, instead of turning to the attack, Stringle rapidly gained confidence. Still holding his position in the bushes, he worked himself into a fine old battle rage, just as he had seen Gruntan Kurdly do. “Yahaaarr! Gerrup them rocks an’ toss ’em both down ’ere t’me. I’ll git two spearpoints ready t’stick their ’eads on. Go on, buckoes, go on, up ye go!”

  The rat who had led the charge, Bladj, came running back into the bushes, clutching his mouth.

  Stringle prodded him with his dagger. “Wot are yew doin’ back ’ere? I thought yew was leadin’ the charge. Git back out there, ye worm!”

  Bladj pulled back his lip angrily, exposing a bleeding gap. “See that? I jus’ got two teeth belted out by a flamin’ slingstone. Who are yew callin’ a worm, why don’t you lead a charge, instead of ’idin’ back ’ere an’ givin’ yore orders!”

  Stringle exerted his authority with high bad temper. Whacking the dagger handle hard against the uninjured side of Bladj’s jaw, he covered the unfortunate in spittle as he roared into his face. “There, I ’ope ye’ve lost two teeth on the other side now. I’m in command ’ere, yew don’t talk t’me like that! Lookit that ’ill, there’s gangs of ’em tryin’ t’get up t’the top, an’ wot’s stoppin’ ’em, eh?” He struck Bladj on the nosetip with the dagger hilt. “One skinny stripedog wirra sling, chuckin’ stones, that’s wot! Now yew get back out dere, or it’ll be yore ’ead I’ll be takin’ back to Kurdly on a spearpoint. Go on, show ’em yore not a worm, let’s ’ear yew yellin’ loud enough t’put the fear of ’ellgates inter those stripe’ounds. There’s enough of us to eat ’em both!”

  As the savage war cries rose in intensity, Gorath came hurrying back to Salixa’s aid. He was holding a huge sandstone boulder above his head. Bladj had regained his position at the head of the charge, he was about two thirds up the slopes. Gorath roared out like thunder. “Eulaliiiiaaaaa!”

  The boulder slew Bladj, plus the two Brownrats either side of him, who, following his example, had raced forward yelling lustily. Several more rodents were struck by the bodies, and the boulder, as they hurtled downward.

  Salixa shot off another stone from her sling. She gazed keenly at her big friend, with his livid scar. “Gorath the Flame, how are you doing?”

  He knelt on the edge of the plateau, watching the Brownrats retreat, fearing another boulder assault. “I’m coping, I think. I keep telling myself that I’m a Tabura, do I look wise to you, Salixa?”

  She hid a smile, keeping her voice level. “You look so wise that for a moment I thought you were the Tabura himself. One thing your wisdom has accomplished, it’s halted their charge, see?”

>   Gorath dusted off his paws. “Good!” He hurried off in search of another boulder.

  Vizka Longtooth had heard the noise, but only faintly, as he stood waiting the arrival of his two forward scouts, the stoats, Dogleg and Patchy. They came stumbling along, pointing back over their shoulders.

  Patchy called out excitedly, “A lorra shoutin’ up for’ard, Cap’n!”

  Vizka was trying to contain his impatience. “I know, we ’eard it. Did ye go an’ see worrit was?”

  Dogleg shook his head and scratched his stomach. “Er, no, Cap’n, sounded like sum sorta fightin’ I t’ink.”

  Vizka stuck his wondrous swordpoint into the ground. He seized the two stoats, each by an ear. As he banged their heads together, he chided them like children. “You t’ink? Youse ’aven’t got enuff brains between ya to t’ink. Scouts are supposed to scout, not t’ink!” He dropped both stoats and retrieved his sword. “Fall in wid der crew, we’ll go an’ see wot all der shoutin’ an’ yellin’s about. Keep ya paws on dose blades, an’ keep yer eyes skinned, all of ya!”

  Rangval whispered to Maudie, “This could be a grand ould chance for us to part company with these rascals.”

  As if he had heard the remark, Vizka smirked at the captives. “Youse ain’t goin’ anywhere. Ruglat, Saltear, Undril, yew stay ’ere an’ guard ’em. Lash dat branch off to a tree, an’ see dey don’t make no funny moves, an’ don’t take any lip off dem!” He signalled the Bludgullet’s crew with his sword.

  When the main party had left, Maudie sized up their three guards. Ruglat was the surly weasel who had struck her with a spearbutt. Saltear was a fat, slovenly stoat, and Undril was a young weasel, fit and sly-faced.

  Orkwil murmured to his two friends, “What d’ye think, could we handle ’em?”