The Legend of Luke

by Brian Jacques

  Hurling himself from the deck, Gonff hit the water with a loud splash and threw himself on to the creature which sped out from the bank. Streamwater boiled in chaos as the pair met, roaring and bellowing.

  ‘Garraway Bullow, ye bangtailed riverdog, I knowed it was you all along. Take that!’

  ‘Whupperyhoo, Gonffo, don’t try t’fool me. You was scared out o’yore mousey wits, admit it!’

  ‘Scared? I been scareder of dead logs floatin’ in the water. Only thing I’m scared of is that you won’t ’ave supper ready, ye whiskery waterwet puddenwalloper!’

  Yelling with delight, Folgrim and Tungro dived into the water. ‘Auntie Garraway, ’tis us, yore nephews!’

  ‘Oh no, lock the larders, it’s Bargud’s brats. Lookit the size of ’em. My pore sister must’ve starved t’death tryin’ to feed ’em. Gonffo, get ’em off me!’

  Otters of Garraway’s tribe began popping up everywhere, shouting to the otters from Tungro’s crew, who yelled back at them. Trimp looked to Martin, who was chuckling and shaking his head at their antics.

  ‘It looks like the two tribes are related. We’re surrounded by aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews. Yugggh!’

  A large pawful of soggy bankmud caught Martin full on the nose. Both groups of otters were so happy to see each other that they had started a mud fight. The remainder of the Honeysuckle’s crew and Furmo’s shrews did not hesitate. Laughing madly they leaped into the water, joining in the fun. Right along the bank they fought, slinging heaps of sludgy brown mud at one another, slipping, sliding and splashing as they pelted away furiously. Mud was everywhere! Swiftly aimed globs of the sticky goo splattered, sticking to fur, spikes, muzzles, paws and tails. A practically unrecognisable hedgehog maid stumbled into what appeared to be a small moving mud mound.

  ‘Heehee, is dat you, miz Trimp?’

  ‘Hahaha, of course it is, who’re you?’

  ‘On’y a likkle Chugg, take dat!’

  ‘Yutch! You filthy imp, don’t chuck mud at me. Throw it at those otters, they started it!’

  ‘Heehee, I frow muds at everybeast, here some more f’you!’

  Whizz! Splat! Splotch! Whopp!

  Only Krar remained aloof, perched on the skiff’s prow, shaking his head in disgust at the undignified spectacle.

  ‘Zounds, ’tis surely a day of fools’ delight. These riverdogs are a mad species methinks. Yawch!’

  A mud-covered Beau stooped to gather more. ‘Oh, well hit, Fethringsol. Maybe that’ll spoil the great pompous featherbag’s appetite, wot!’

  Evening had fallen by the time both sides had wearied of mud throwing and washed themselves off in the stream. Queen Garraway Bullow took a last chance to grab her nephews and duck them soundly.

  Gonff waded over. ‘Ahoy, what’s goin’ on here? Tryin’ to drown off yore kin?’

  ‘That’s right, Gonffo. Disrespectful rascals, I’ll teach ’em to address me as Yore Majesty, not auntie Garraway. Well, friend, we’d best rest up awhile, then I’ll have my crew rig blocks’n’tackles to pull yore pretty boat over the waterfall. ’Tis the least I can do for such fighters!’

  Folgrim broke the surface, blowing water. ‘Aye, ’cos if you don’t yore name’ll be mud for ever!’

  * * *

  39

  MILK-WHITE MIST COVERED the land up to the height of a tall elm tree. Early dawn silence lay over Redwall Abbey, disturbed only by muted birdsong from afar. It was an hour after dawn. Skipper and Bella leaned on the north battlements, with Gonflet between them. Keeping a paw behind the little mouse, Bella cautioned him, ‘Stay away from the battlement edge. Your mum’ll have a word or two to say if I let you fall.’

  Gonflet stamped his paws in frustration, peering into the blanket of mist. ‘When’ll my daddy be’s comin’ back, Skip?’

  Skipper sat the tiny fellow on his shoulder, out of harm.

  ‘Oh, don’t you fret, mate, he’ll come back soon now. Maybe later on, when the mist lifts.’

  Gonflet tugged the otter’s ear. ‘Phwaw! You say that alla time, every day, Skip!’

  Columbine’s voice sounded from the lawn below. ‘Hello, Bella, Skip, where are you?’

  ‘Up ’ere, marm, west corner o’ north wall!’

  Columbine came up the wallsteps, carrying a tray, which she placed on the wall.

  ‘Gracious, you three are up here early today. Surely there’s not much point yet, with all this autumn mist about. Gonflet, shouldn’t you still be in your bed?’

  ‘No no, it my turn to watch for daddy. Miz Bell an’ Skip ’elpin’ me. My daddy come soon, you see!’

  Columbine stroked her son’s head fondly. ‘Yes, I’m sure he will. Oh, look, the mist is turning gold! Come and have some breakfast now. The sun will burn all this mist away before long.’

  Columbine stayed on the ramparts with them. Still surrounded by the cocoon of golden autumnal mist, they ate bowls of hot oatmeal with fresh berries and honey.

  With otters hauling and shrews pushing, the skiff Honeysuckle slid over the ditch and out of west Mossflower’s trees on to the path. It was the same spot where Trimp had met Ferdy and Coggs a season before.

  Gonff called through the mist to Martin, ‘Hoist the sail, matey!’

  Furmo shook his head at the Mousethief. ‘Wot d’you want the sail spread for, matey? We’re in a fog, there ain’t a feather o’ breeze nowheres to stir her sail.’

  Taking a brightly coloured Guosim headband, Gonff bound it about his brow. He climbed to the prow and struck a pose. ‘You an’ the breeze can do what you like, Log a Log, but if I’m comin’ home then I’m goin’ to arrive in style, eh, Martin?’

  His friend joined him on the prow, drawing his sword and pointing forward in an equally heroic pose. ‘Right, mate. Let’s go home!’

  Furmo nodded admiringly at the pair. ‘That’s the way, crewmates. Come on, everybeast, we’ll grease the wheels, comb our whiskers, haul the ropes an’ sing our friends home every bit o’ the way. You all know “Journey’s End”. Trimp, you take the top harmony, I’ll do the baritone, an’ Garraway the bass. One two three . . .’

  Away the Honeysuckle rolled down the path, with her crew pulling the headropes, two tribes of otters and a tribe of Guosim crowding round to push, Martin, Gonff, Dinny and Trimp, the original four who had set out from the Abbey, all standing in the prow. Krar perched on the masthead, keeping a firm grip on Chugger, who still considered himself captain.

  Now the sun was beginning to thin the mist, they could see through it. As they rounded a bend by a grove of oaks the singing suddenly died, and the Honeysuckle rolled to a halt. Everybeast looked up and saw Redwall.

  Floating above the golden mist like a vision from some wondrous dream, south gable reared to the soft blue skies, with the weather vane standing proud atop the dusty rose-coloured sandstone buttresses. It was a magical, breathtaking sight. For one awestruck moment they all stood, gazing dumbly, then a mighty cheer broke out. Dinny chuckled proudly, through tears he was unable to check, ‘Yonder be moi ’ome!’

  Gonflet sprang from Skipper’s shoulders on to the north-west corner battlement, which was higher than the rest. Skipper held out his paws for the little mouse to jump back down again.

  ‘Come offa there, matey, you can’t see anythin’ yet in this mist.’

  Columbine sensed something. She looked up at her son. ‘Gonflet, what is it?’

  ‘I ’ear ’em, mamma! Lissen! Daddy comes ’ome! Lissen!’

  Faintly at first, but growing in volume, the sound of many beasts singing reached the walltops. Bella scrambled up on to the battlement, and laughed aloud with joy.

  ‘There’s a ship coming down the path! A ship! Would you believe it, friends, I see them! I see them!’

  High into the sunny morning the song rang out.

  ‘Marching home! Marching home!

  Jolly friend! Jolly friend!

  Trav’lling on, until our journey’s end,

  So away with all your fears,

  S
mile with me forget those tears,

  Though the road was long an’ dusty we survived.

  And arrived!

  Tramp tramp tramp tramp,

  Lay your head down where you camp,

  It ain’t your home or fireside.

  Tramp tramp tramp tramp,

  Moorlands dry or forests damp,

  Sharing together side by side.

  Marching home! Marching home!

  Jolly friend! Jolly friend!

  O’er each highland, around each river’s bend,

  Keep your chin up in the rain,

  Soon we’ll be back home again,

  Though my paws are worn an’ weary never fear.

  Oh my dear!

  Left right left right,

  Onward mate by day or night,

  Lean on my shoulder now old friend,

  Left right left right,

  Grey the day or sunlight bright,

  Until we reach our journey’s end.

  Marching home! Marching home!’

  Bella’s shouts boomed like thunder over the lawns.

  ‘Rouse yourselves, Redwallers, they’re back! Turn out the cooks! Open the gates! They’ve come back home!’

  As Ferdy and Coggs flung the outer gates wide, Columbine allowed Gonflet to dash off and meet the ship. He was swept aboard and lifted on to his father’s shoulders. Ferdy and Coggs, still in their nightshirts, held the outer wall gates wide open. With all the creatures of Redwall pushing it, the skiff Honeysuckle sailed regally inside, halting in the centre of the main lawn. Gonff leaped down with Gonflet still on his shoulders, swept Columbine up and hugged her tight. ‘Yore Prince o’ Mousethieves is returned, milady!’

  Chaotic greetings broke out everywhere.

  ‘Oh, Dinny, our faithful Foremole, how we missed you, my friend. Welcome home, welcome home!’

  ‘Hurr, thankee, miz Bell, oi missed ee too, aye, so gurtly that oi be lostened furr wurds, marm!’

  ‘Uncle Warthorn, it is you, ain’t it?’

  ‘Well rip me rudder, so ’tis. Don’t tell me yore Bargud’s sons? Lookit the size o’ you both. Wot were ye fed on, boulders’n’logs? Fergit Warthorn, call me Skip. ‘Ere, come an’ meet Mayberry an’ Catkin. I thinks they’re yore cousins, but I’ll let ye know when I works it out!’

  ‘Ferdy, Coggs, hello there, ’tis me!’

  ‘Why so ’tis, miz Trimp, y’look taller, I think!’

  ‘Aye, an’ pretty as ever. Good to ’ave ye back, me dear!’

  ‘H’i name Chugg, only a likkle squiggle, but lotsa t’ubble!’

  ‘Me called Gonflet, I lotsa t’ubble too, Chugg!’

  ‘Ahoy there, Skip, whupperyhoo to ye. Let go o’ those two bullies an’ shake yore otterkin’s paw, ye ole rascal!’

  ‘Haharr, Garraway Bullow, me ole heart’s delight. C’mere, me second cousin twice removed an’ longtailed on yore granma’s side!’

  Amid the shouting and laughing as old friends were reunited and new ones made, a small stooped figure, leaning on a blackthorn stick, shuffled across the lawn. Everybeast made way for Abbess Germaine. Mayberry and Catkin hurried forward, assisting her to the Honeysuckle’s prow, where Martin stood waiting to meet her. Drawing his sword he knelt, laying it at the old mouse’s footpaws. She smiled.

  ‘Martin of Redwall, you have returned to us, my friend.’

  ‘Aye, Mother Abbess. It was a good journey, a long and eventful summer. I am happy to be back at Redwall.’

  The Abbess Germaine waved her stick at the strange craft standing in the middle of the lawn, with a great goshawk perched on its prow.

  ‘An eventful summer indeed, Martin. What is all this?’

  ‘That is Log a Log Furmo’s skiff Honeysuckle, named after his goodwife, marm. Yonder noble bird is Krar Woodwatcher, a valiant fighter and a great friend to us. These shrews are Guosim, and we have with us two tribes of otters, the tribes of Queen Garraway Bullow and the brothers Folgrim and Tungro.’

  Abbess Germaine silenced Martin by raising her paw.

  ‘Enough. You will confuse my old mind if you carry on further, Martin. Welcome, welcome to you all, peace be with you, may you find happiness and joy within Redwall Abbey. If there is anything you need from me or my Redwallers, please do not hesitate to ask for it.’

  In the brief silence which followed this announcement, the old hare confronted the Abbess with a courteous, though slightly creaky, bow.

  ‘Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham at y’service, marm. I was, er, wonderin’, wot, er, if perchance, you maybe had, er, a slight, hmmmmm, beggin’ y’pardon of course, er, er . . .’

  Germaine nodded. She understood him completely. ‘I take it you are hungry, mister Cosfortingham?’

  Beau nodded eagerly, still stammering. ‘Quite, er ah, thank ye, marm, I am mayhap a little, er, shall we say, er, peckish?’

  Smiling broadly, the old Abbess took his paw. ‘I never knew a hare who was not hungry, sir. We have been preparing since the back end of summer for such an event, and we have plenty enough for everybeast including you, sir. Is everything ready, Bella?’

  The Badgermother nodded, pointing towards the orchard. ‘By the time the mist has risen completely. Cooks, servers, cellar-hogs, helpers, to your stations for the feast!’

  A mighty cheer arose into the autumn morn as the Redwall helpers hurried off to the kitchens for their trolleys. Paw in paw all the guests strolled off behind them, chatting animatedly at the prospect of Redwall hospitality.

  ‘A feast eh wot, hope there’s enough for all this lot, wot?’

  ‘Burr, zurr, you’m bain’t never been to ee Redwall feast. Thurr be enuff gudd vittles to keep twice this yurr number a-goin’ furr ee full season. Hurr aye!’

  ‘Ahoy, Ferdy, wait’ll you see ole Krar take to the vittles. That bird could make you look like a Dibbun at table!’

  ‘We’ll see about that, Gonff. What about yon hare?’

  ‘Hoho, don’t even ask, matey. His name should’ve been Famine, not Fethringsol. Don’t sit next to him!’

  ‘I sit by you, Gonflet, we eats everyfink all up, eh?’

  ‘Ho yiss, but later, Chugg, come wiv me, we pincha pies off the windowsills, they still coolin’. Heehee!’

  ‘Looks like you’ve got double trouble there, miz Columbine.’

  ‘You could be right, Skip, treble trouble if you count Gonff. But better the trouble that we know, and at least they’re home safe and sound!’

  ‘Gurr, ’ome, marm, bain’t et a wunnerful word!’

  * * *

  Epilogue

  Extract from the journal of Germaine, Mother Abbess of Redwall Abbey.

  ‘It is winter now, a time for sitting round the fire in Cavern Hole and storytelling on long dark evenings. By the time next winter arrives our Abbey will be completely built. Never have we had so many welcome and useful guests. This beautiful desk I am sitting at was made by the tribe of Tungro, as is all our furniture – what wonderfully skilled craftsbeasts those otters are. His brother Folgrim is to stay here and live with us; he and Skipper have become inseparable. Many of our guests will stay permanently. It gives me great joy, they are good hardworking creatures. Trimp and Chugger are now part of Gonff’s family. How could they not be happy with two such as our Prince of Mousethieves and his lovely wife Columbine. Everybeast here says that I still have many seasons in front of me. I hope so, Redwall is such a joyous place to be. I look forward each morning to breakfast with my close companions, Vurg and Beau. I wish I could have gone sea roving with them in my younger seasons. What adventures they have had!

  Martin seems to have regained his old zest for life. He is not the troubled Warrior any more. It was a wondrous tale he had to tell, both of himself and his brave father Luke. It was also very sad at times, but does not sadness mingle with joy, to make us grow fully into the creatures we are? Strangest of all, though, he showed me something from a beaded linen bag, which belonged to his poor mother. It was a woven tapestry of his grandsire, who was also cal
led Martin. The picture is of a mouse in armour, bearing a great sword. I was amazed, it looked like Martin himself, to the very life. Though he said to me that it reminded him greatly of Luke, his father. Columbine has had a lovely idea: she thinks that the picture might form a centrepiece for a big tapestry, which would someday hang in Great Hall. When I look at the picture I know it is our Martin. I think that he and his ancestors have always been warriors, champions, whose spirit exists to inspire good honest creatures.

  Martin has also done a remarkable thing. He has decided to give up his sword and live a life of peace. He has done so much to help found our Abbey that no creature could deny him the right to do this. The goshawk, Krar Woodwatcher, has hidden the sword where Martin directed him to put it. The only hint he gave of the great sword’s location was to me and no other. These are his words.

  Above where autumn’s mists do rise,

  Where I beheld with mine own eyes,

  My dream, my vision, hov’ring there,

  One morn upon old Mossflower’s air.

  Then he said a strange thing to me which I will tell to you.

  I stand here in this world alone,

  No kin of mine to take the sword,

  No son or daughter of my own,

  A bitter and a sad reward,

  But Redwall in its hour of need,

  Will bring forth one to follow me,

  To that one, valiant in deed,

  I leave a Warrior’s legacy.

  Then he would talk no more of such matters. Now if I want to find him, I have only to follow the sound of our Abbey babes, the Dibbuns, laughing and playing. Martin will be there, joining in with them; Gonff too. They are both enjoying a new-found happiness, though I doubt that our Prince of Mousethieves ever really grew up. Perhaps Martin is making up for the lost seasons of his youth, who knows? It does every Redwaller’s heart good to see him thus.

  Well, my friends, I am tired now, that is the privilege of an old Abbess, burdened with so many long seasons. I will go down to Cavern Hole and sit in my big chair by the fire, with a blanket on my lap. There I can listen to the songs and the stories, watch the young ones dance and play, drink some hot cordial and drift off into a warm sleep, whilst winter reigns outside in the night. I won’t say goodbye to you, because one evening you may drop by to share this good life with us. You know you are always welcome at Redwall Abbey. All you need to bring with you is a ready smile and an open heart.