The Legend of Luke

by Brian Jacques

  Migglo chuckled gruffly through his bushy whiskers. ‘Amber’s squirrels ain’t settin’ up no weather vane, ’tis Ferdy’n’Coggs who’ll be doin’ that job. Hohoho! Wait’ll ye see those two bulky ole Cellar’ogs wobblin’ about up there. They ain’t lookin’ forward to it, I can tell ye!’

  Skipper smiled at the thought of Redwall’s twin Cellar-hogs high on the south gable. ‘No, nor would I fancy it!’

  Carrying a big earthenware jug and beakers on a tray between them, Mayberry and Catkin the ottermaids awkwardly bobbed curtsies to all the workers.

  ‘Miz Bella said to bring you a cool drink, mint leaf an’ rosehip cordial from the cellars.’

  ‘She said it’d wash the sawdust down, sir.’

  Migglo swigged off a full beaker in one go. ‘Just the stuff, colder’n ice an’ very refreshin’. Thank ye.’

  Skipper sipped his drink slowly, relishing it. The ottermaids topped up his beaker.

  ‘We didn’t know you were a carpenter, grandpa?’

  He winked at them. ‘Just shows yer, me pretties, you don’t know half the things yore ole grandpa can do.’

  ‘Oh yes we do, we know lots of things you can do.’

  ‘Do you now? Like wot?’

  ‘We know you can hide underwater in the pond when ’tis your turn to wash pots’n’dishes.’

  ‘Yes, an’ we know you can wake everybeast when you talk in your sleep with your big loud voice.’

  ‘And we know you can sup more hotroot soup than anybeast, and drink more October Ale and scoff more damson pudden . . .’

  The otter Chieftain squinted fiercely at his two young granddaughters as he advanced on them. ‘Haharr, me pretties, an’ did ye know that I can clip the noses of liddle ottermaids with me spokeshave?’

  They fled squealing and giggling from the orchard.

  That evening it went cool suddenly. Standing on the outer wall ramparts of the Abbey, Bella and Columbine watched the enchanting sight of summer’s last evening. Streaked to the west with slim dark cloud tails, the sunset was awesome. In the final moments the skies turned deep scarlet on the horizon, ranging up through crimson and rose to a delicate pink. Above this it faded to a broad band of buttery amber with soft dark blue pierced by the faint twinkle of early stars. Columbine let her breath out in a long wistful sigh.

  ‘I hope my Gonff can see all of this beauty.’

  Bella placed a paw gently on her friend’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure he can. I know he’ll be thinking of you and the little one here at Redwall, awaiting his return.’

  A random thought caused the mousewife to cover her mouth, stifling a chuckle. ‘Unless there’s food to be had, of course. Gonff would sooner gaze at a fruit puddin’ than a sunset!’

  Bella joined in her laughter. ‘Then I suggest we post a daily lookout on this wall from now on. No doubt we can accommodate his sense of beauty with a big apple pie.’

  * * *

  37

  A LIVELY BREEZE stopped autumn’s first day starting with a gentle mist. The Honeysuckle was positioned just below the brow of the hill, armed with slings and oars, and the crew and their Dunehog allies stood waiting.

  Furmo tested the wind direction with a damp paw. ‘Couldn’t ask for a fairer breeze, Martin!’

  The Warrior signalled to Folgrim. ‘Off you go, mate, and don’t forget to raise a shout at the right moment.’

  The smallest of the Guosim shrews was bent double, wearing a cape which Trimp had made for Chugger. He grasped Folgrim’s paw and toddled off over the hilltop, with the scarred otter adopting his old hunched hunting pose. Together they looked like a grandsire and his grandchild.

  A stringy-looking weasel was arguing with a ferret, disputing over a wooden skewer festooned with insect and moth carcasses, which had been spiked there to roast over the fire. A motley collection of rats and assorted vermin watched them, knowing a fight was inevitable. As the weasel reached for the skewer, the ferret kicked him.

  ‘Getcher dirty paws offa me vittles, longnose!’

  The weasel was knocked forward, scorching his paw in the flames. He turned snarling at his tormentor.

  ‘Half o’ them are mine. Lift yer paw t’me agin an’ I’ll chop it off, greedyguts!’

  Like a flash, a broad evil-looking blade appeared in the ferret’s paw. He aimed another kick at the weasel.

  ‘Yew couldn’t chop yer way outta a daisy patch. Back off from those vittles, they’re mine!’

  The weasel shrugged, as if admitting defeat. Picking up the sharpened skewer, whose end was on fire, he turned to the ferret.

  ‘Ah, wot’s a pile o’ squashed bugs t’me. You ’ave ’em!’

  Bounding forward, he thrust the skewer hard into the ferret’s gut. A shriek of agony rang out, and the ferret fell backward dying, stabbed through his stomach.

  Callous laughter and coarse remarks greeted the cruel act.

  ‘Haw haw haw! Somethin’ upset ’is stummick!’

  ‘Heeheehee! Ole Brango looks jus’ like a bug on that skewer, lookit ’im wriggle!’

  A fox who had lost interest in the gruesome spectacle happened to turn and look uphill. He caught sight of the two pitiful figures hobbling side by side.

  ‘Oh lucky day, look wot’s comin’ this way, mates!’

  Paws grasped blades as most of the vermin began inching towards the two unfortunate creatures, calling mockingly, ‘Come an’ join us fer dinner, friends.’

  ‘Aye, don’t be scared, you’ll ’ave nought t’be worried about soon, ain’t that right, mates?’

  The two creatures halted, as if noticing the evil crew for the first time. Slowly they backed off uphill, crying piteously, ‘Please don’t hurt us, we’re only poor travellers!’

  Speeding up their advance, the vermin began to spread in an arc, trying to cut their quarry off. The poor travellers cut and run then, scampering uphill and yelling aloud, ‘Help! Oh, help us somebeast! Help!’

  Pulling a rusty axe from his belt the fox ran after them. ‘I saw ’em first!’

  The skinny weasel dashed past him, snarling. ‘First there first served, brushtail!’

  As Folgrim and the Guosim shrew reached the ridge-crest they were yanked aboard the Honeysuckle. Down the hill she thundered, the breeze billowing her sail full out. War cries rang round the hillside.

  ‘Eulaliaaaaa! Redwaaaaaalll! Gorramahoggorraaaaa!’

  The vermin were taken completely by surprise. Dinny whacked out with an oar, laying the skinny weasel out cold. Hard round slingstones cracked against skulls, ribs, paws and tails, filling the airlike angry hornets in swarm. Heedless of the stupidity of their retreat, the vermin fled off downhill, with the Honeysuckle skimming behind them. Vurg caught the fox by his tail and dragged him along, whilst Beau hung over the side belabouring him with an oar. ‘You thoroughly’ Whack! ‘despicable’ Thwack whack! ’cad!’

  A rat who was tripped by one of the for’ard oars leaped smartly up, only to be felled by Furmo, who from his position at the stem walloped him over the head. Onward plunged the vermin in their rout, hotly pursued by a skiff on wheels, leaving in its wake a trail of wounded and senseless creatures.

  Finally the remnants of the ragtag vermin band broke, running off in separate directions, but not before Dunespike lassoed one. The terrified ferret was dragged aboard. He lay quivering on the deck of the still travelling craft, staring up into the fearsome scarred face of Folgrim.

  Resting his axeblade between the ferret’s eyes, the otter growled in a menacing voice, ‘I see I’ve got yore attention, scumbrain, so lissen hard. We’ll be sailin’ these regions for the next couple o’ seasons, huntin’ down vermin an’ cleanin’ up the land. Yore lot are the first, ain’t you the lucky ones. We’re lettin’ you live, so you an’ yore cronies can spread the word round that we’ve arrived. Y’see that warrior with the nice sharp sword? He’s our leader. Name o’ Martin of Redwall, a very fair beast. He believes in givin’ vermin a sportin’ chance . . . then slayin’ ’em!’

&n
bsp; Martin prodded the ferret with his bladetip. ‘Up on your paws, bully, come on!’

  Trembling uncontrollably the ferret rose. The Honeysuckle had slowed down minimally, breasting another rise, then she picked up speed, skimming downhill. Martin swung his sword up high. ‘Jump or die?’

  ‘Eeyaaaaagh!’

  With a pitiful wail the ferret flung himself overboard. They watched him bounce and spin as he rolled downhill until a rock halted his progress with a juicy thud.

  The breeze made a hissing sound as it ran through Dunespike’s stickles, and he clapped his paws happily.

  ‘An’ isn’t this the grand ould way t’be travellin’. Sure I’ve not had this much fun since I caught a jellyfish on me spikes. Cap’n Chugg sir, do we throw out the anchor at lunchtime, or does eatin’ on the move sound like a grand ould idea to ye?’

  Chugger gave Dunespike his captain’s scowl. ‘Wot a jellyfish is?’

  The hedgehog Chieftain caught him and tickled Chugger until he broke down laughing.

  ‘Yore a jellyfish, ye liddle omadorm, a fat wee jellyfish!’

  Chugger rolled about, unable to escape. ‘Heeheehee ’elp me, mista Fol! Heeheehee, I norra jellyfish, I on’y a likkle Chugg. Heeheehee, ’elp ’elp!’

  The Honeysuckle did not stop for lunch; they kept on whilst the breezes favoured progress. During the afternoon the wind deserted the sails, and the skiff rolled to an easy halt, at the fringe of a copse.

  Guosim cooks discovered a small spring among the trees, where the water was cool and sweet. Apples, pears and wild berries were plentiful. Lounging in the tree shade, the crew ate and drank their fill.

  Dunespike looked about admiringly. ‘Murfo, me son, does this place not look grand t’ye?’

  ‘Aye, grand, da, grand ’tis!’

  ‘An’ a whole lot better’n livin’ midst ould sand dunes?’

  ‘Aye, ’twould be, da, ’twould be so!’

  ‘Sure we’ve got fruit t’pick from the bough an’ berries t’gather as we please. What would y’say to livin’ here?’

  ‘Oh, grand t’be sure, da. We’d want for nothin’!’

  Dunespike cuffed his son’s ear fondly. ‘Well spoken. Take ten o’ the lads an’ start diggin’ a good ould cave beneath these trees. I’ll send the rest back t’the dunes for the babbies an’ the elders. Would that be all right with you, Martin of Redwall?’

  Martin was looking up at the sky, and replied absently, ‘Yes, of course it will, Chief, providing you show us where Northfork stream lies.’

  ‘Sure of course I will. What’re ye starin’ up at the sky for? Don’t worry, it won’t fall, it’s been up there a long time.’

  Martin spoke to Dunespike, though he was looking at Gonff. ‘Birds are starting to fly south, the autumn has come.’

  The Mousethief watched until the birds were out of sight. ‘We must remember our word, mate. Time for us to fly home.’

  Following breakfast in the Great Hall of Redwall Abbey, all the creatures sat awaiting the allotment of daily chores. Bella, whose duty it was to apportion the work, was deep in conversation with Abbess Germaine. Eager eyes watched the Badgermother as Redwallers speculated on which way the roster would go for them.

  ‘Hope I’m helpin’ Ferdy’n’Coggs in the cellars again!’

  ‘Cellars are closed today, they’ve got to raise the weather vane on south gable. I’m not goin’ up there!’

  ‘Hurr, you’m wuddent be h’allowed oop thurr, zurr, on’y ee squirr’ls be on sou’ gable to ’elp with ee vane.’

  ‘Hope I don’t get picked as cook’s helper again. Huh, they had me scrubbin’ pots all day last time.’

  All talk ceased instantly when Bella rapped the table. ‘Lady Amber and her squirrels will be assisting Ferdy and Coggs to raise the weather vane on the top of south gable.’

  ‘Thurr see, jus’ loik oi tole ee!’

  Bella paused, looking in the direction of the interruption. There was a muffled giggle, followed by respectful silence. She waited a moment before continuing.

  ‘All other building work today will be suspended. Migglo, Mayberry and Catkin, you are today’s duty cooks.’

  The whiskery old bankvole winked at both ottermaids, who wriggled and tittered excitedly, before realising the importance of their position and sitting up primly.

  Bella nodded to the three Redwallers. ‘Forget any cooking or baking for today, there’s enough bread, scones and pastry been readied overnight. Concentrate on a cold buffet, salads, fruitcups and such. Skipper will take watch on the battlements for signs of our returning travellers. Without exception, every otherbeast within our walls is to go to the storerooms for sacks and baskets. Columbine, will you and Gurdle see that ladders and sticks are available, please?’

  Some of the elders began smiling and nudging one another, but the younger element looked puzzled. Abbess Germaine allowed Bella to help her up on to the table, then she waved her paws in the air and called out in a reedy quaver, ‘Then ’tis all to the orchard for fruit harvest!’

  Gleeful cheers greeted this announcement, followed by chaos. Redwallers dashed to the storerooms, where Columbine was issuing sacks and baskets as fast as she could.

  ‘Form a line there, don’t push, there’s plenty for all. Gonflet, take that sack off your head! Gurdle, will you see that all Dibbuns are given berry trugs, thank you!’

  Passing out the small baskets to the little ones, the mole chuckled at their antics. ‘They’m be barskets, not sandals, take ’em off’n ee futtpaws.

  Columbine was settling Abbess Germaine down in a wheelbarrow full of soft moss, beneath the shade of a spreading horse chestnut tree. Both of them broke down laughing at the sight of Bella leading the band of pickers in a harvest dance, singing as she went. Clutching Columbine’s paw, the ancient Abbess chuckled. ‘Oh dearie me an’ preserve m’paws! It’s like seeing a great boulder roll down a mountainside watching our Bella dance! Heeheehee!’

  Columbine skipped aside as Bella hurtled by. ‘Hahahaha! Maybe so, but there’s those not even half Bella’s age who can’t keep up with her!’

  Winding its way through trees and around bushes, the merry dance went on, with everybeast singing their hearts out.

  ‘Now go good son and daughter,

  Haste to our orchard fair,

  And gather in the harvest,

  Which lies a-waiting there.

  Ripe apples, ripe apples, are falling to the ground,

  As pears so sweet and juicy are lying all around!

  Keep singing pretty daughter,

  Until the work is done,

  So you don’t eat the berries,

  And leave your mother none.

  Blackberries, ripe cherries, don’t bruise or break them miss,

  For sweetness can be lost like a faithless lover’s kiss!

  The gooseberry and greengage,

  Are bittersweet my son,

  And damson has a heart stone,

  You’ll find before you’re done.

  Enchanting, enticing, like wild grape on the vine,

  The maidens want to help you, to let their paws entwine!

  So pick a berry, sing so merry,

  Harvest time is here,

  Go skipping round our orchard,

  My son and daughter dear!’

  Bella stood tall. Reaching a high branch she pulled it down to her face and sniffed deep. ‘Aaahhh! Nought so sweet as the smell of a good russet apple on the bough. Mmmmm! I could sniff ’em all day!’

  Beneath her a hogwife stood tapping her footpaw, sack held wide open and waiting. ‘Beg pardon, miz Bell, but could y’leave off sniffin’ an’ start shakin’ afore it goes dark?’

  ‘Oops, silly old me. Sorry!’

  The badger gave the bough a mighty shake, releasing ripe russets in a shower. When she looked down, the hogwife was still tapping her footpaws, two apples impaled on her headspikes, another two on her back.

  ‘Tch tch! Miz Bell marm, ’twould be a help if’n you shook ’em
into the sack!’

  Columbine and Germaine were picking redcurrants, the Abbess keeping a curious eye on Gonflet.

  ‘My dear, what is that little son of yours up to? He’s supposed to be gathering raspberries, isn’t he?’

  Columbine could not help smiling as she watched the little mouse. He would fill both his smock pants with fruit, take a furtive glance left and right, then scurry off to empty his load into a trug hidden beneath the berry hedge.

  ‘Hmm, just like his father, a real mousethief. He’s not happy unless he thinks he’s stealing something, Mother Abbess. I’ll have to turn him upside down and shake him before he goes to bed tonight. Otherwise there’ll be raspberries squashed around the dormitory for the rest of the season. Little pickle. He’s a good worker though!’

  The harvesting was going well, moles trundling off to the storerooms with laden trollies as the fruit was picked and basketed or bagged up. At midday the cooks borrowed three trolleys, to bring lunch for the pickers. Mayberry and Catkin repulsed any advances on the food with frosty glances and severe words.

  ‘Not a single bite until you’ve washed at the pond!’

  ‘Gracious me, look at those sticky paws. Away with you!’

  Migglo gave them a whiskery grin. ‘That’s the stuff, missies, you tell ’em, go on, yore the cooks, ’tis up to you!’

  Emboldened, the ottermaids spared nobeast from censure.

  ‘Miz Bella, have you been pickin’ apples with yore nose? You can just go an’ wash y’face, this instant!’

  ‘Hmph, shame on you, Mother Abbess, ’tis up t’you to set an example. Look at yourself, redcurrant juice from tail to ears. Gurdle, help her to get washed, please!’

  Columbine’s giggles were cut short as they turned their attentions upon her.

  ‘’Tis no laughin’ matter, miz Columbine, shame on you!’

  ‘Aye, woe ’pon you if’n mister Gonff was to see y’now. We’ll inspect those paws after you’ve washed ’em!’

  It was a simple and satisfying lunch which had been prepared for the harvesters. Sliced apples, cheese and fresh crusty bread, with new cider or cold mint tea to sip and strawberries with meadowcream for dessert. Columbine sat beneath the chestnut tree with her friends, still shaking her head and smiling over the bossy cooks.