Loamhedge

34

Martha was up at dawn, trying out her newfound skill—walking! At first it was painful and slow, but the progress she was making, holding on to things for support, was remarkable. With the aid of Sister Setiva’s blackthorn stick, which the Infirmary nurse had parted with happily, the haremaid wandered joyfully along Great Hall.

Martha laughed inwardly at what Setiva had said: “Och, take this auld thing an’ use it in good heath, ma bonny lass. Ah’ve only kept it tae threaten Dibbuns with—not that they ever took much notice, the wee villains!”

The young haremaid manoeuvred the stairs, pausing every few moments to revel in her newfound freedom. Walking!

Abbot Carrul came up behind her, watching Martha’s progress, until she turned and noticed him.

“Good morning, Father Abbot, it’s a fine morning!”

Carrul beamed back at her. “ ’Tis the finest of mornings, young miss, and all the better for seeing you up and about!”

As Toran came out onto the dormitory landing, he waved down to them. “Now then, you two gabby idlers, why ain’t ye bringin’ brekkist up to the pore beasts on guard, eh?”

Martha started eagerly back downstairs. “Breakfast for how many, sir—one, two, ten? It’ll be up there directly!”

Granmum Gurvel came trundling through Great Hall, heading a small convoy of moles who were pushing four trolleys. She brandished her best copper ladle at Martha.

“Ho no you’m woant, brekkist bee’s ee cook’s tarsk roun’ yurr. Miz Marth’, you’m ’asten oop to ee durmitrees an’ set ee on a churr. Rest yore paws naow. Doo ee hurr?”

Brother Weld had joined Toran on the landing. “Best do as she says, or old Gurvel’ll skelp your tail with her ladle. That’s one old molecook who’ll stand no nonsense.”

Breakfast in the dormitory was a makeshift affair, rather inconvenient for most but huge fun for the Dibbuns. The Abbeybabes, who thought everything was a game, perched in the oddest places, singing, playing and eating together. Sister Portula was trying to coax Muggum, and several of his cohorts, down from a shelf, where they were bouncing up and down as they squabbled over hot scones and honeyed oatmeal.

In a state of despair, she turned to Martha. “Oh dear, I do wish the Searats weren’t here and we were back to normal. Just look at those little ones, they’re getting very wild. But with no Abbeyschool, and having to spend all day indoors, who can blame them?” Portula looked to Martha for comment, but the haremaid was not listening. Her joyous mood dispersed, she stood gazing forlornly out the window.

The kindly Sister showed concern. “Martha, dear, is something the matter, what’s wrong?”

Toran was close enough to hear his young friend’s reply. “I’m sorry, Sister, but I can’t help feeling sad, I’ve just realised something. What a waste of time it all is. Bragoon and Saro, together with Horty, Springald and Fenna, have gone off questing for Loamhedge. Little do they know that I need no cure or remedy. Suddenly I can walk! My brother and good friends are far away from Redwall—who knows what deadly danger or injury may befall them? There was no real need for them to go. Oh, fate can be so cruel at times. I feel responsible and guilty about the whole thing!”

Sister Portula comforted her. “You must not blame yourself, Martha. None of this was your doing, was it, Toran?”

The ottercook had strong feelings about Martha’s supposed dilemma, and he minced no words in telling her so. “Wot’s all this nonsense, don’t ye be talkin’ that way, Martha! Huh, ye could go on all day, worryin’ about this an’ that, an’ supposin’. Lissen, I’ll give ye a suppose. Supposin’ yore friends an’ my brother an’ Saro hadn’t gone, eh? Things would’ve turned out totally diff’rent, fate would’ve cast other lots for everybeast. You mightn’t ’ave been at that window in yore chair last night, but those Searats may’ve changed their plans. Then where’d ye be now, Martha? I’ll tell ye, still sittin’ stuck in a chair!

“So don’t ye dare say that there was no point in our good friends undertakin’ a mission to find a cure for ye, Martha Braebuck! An’ don’t talk t’me of danger or injury. If’n Brag an’ Saro ’ave anythin’ t’do with it, the only ones sufferin’ perils an’ wounds will be anybeasts who tries to stop ’em! So quit complainin’ an’ supposin’, miss. Be grateful that ye can go runnin’, on yore own footpaws, to greet the travellers when they return to our Abbey!”

Martha had never heard Toran speak so forcefully, or truly. Wiping her eyes, the haremaid clasped her friend’s paw fervently. “Thank you, Toran, you’re right. What a silly creature I am!”

The ottercook turned away, brushing a paw across his own eyes. “No you ain’t, yore our Martha. Now put a smile on that face, an’ get those liddle villains down of’n that shelf afore they fall an’ ’urt themselves!”

Sharpening his silver hooktip on the wall, Raga Bol lounged in the gatehouse doorway. Bright summer morn had done nothing to ease his foul mood. Dreams of the big stripedog had begun haunting him afresh, plus he was still smarting from the previous night’s shameful defeat. Striving to put thoughts of the badger from his mind, he took out his mean temper on every crewrat in sight, snarling menacingly at them.

“Belay there, Wirga, ain’t there any vittles left, where’s me brekkist? Ahoy, you there, stop scrapin’ mud off’n yoreself, an’ grubbin’ at yer eyes like some snotty liddle whelp. Go an’ get some vittles for yore cap’n, sharpish!”

All four of the Searats, not knowing exactly whom the glaring captain was addressing, ran off to do his bidding. “Aye aye, Cap’n! Right away, Cap’n!” they chorused as they tugged their ears in salute.

Raga Bol turned his spleen upon the one called Rojin, who was sitting on the gatehouse wallsteps, poulticing a swollen eye. “Quit dabbin’ at yore lamp, ye’ve still got a good ’un left. I never got no brekkist, ’cos Blowfly let me servants escape. They’re the beasts who should be doin’ the cookin’. Git yoreself after Blowfly an’ Glimbo. I want t’see ye all back ’ere by noon wid the runaways in tow. ’Cos if’n ye ain’t, I’ll let the livin’ daylights into the lotta youse wid this ’ook. Go on, gerrout o’ me sight, ye laggard!”

The next to come in for a tongue lashing was the one called Rinj, who happened to stray within earshot. “Stan’ by the big gate there, Rinj, ye useless mess of offal. Keep a weather eye out for Rojin an’ the others comin’ back. Report ter me the moment ye spot ’em!”

The Searat captain stalked back into the gatehouse, slamming the door so hard that its hinges rattled. He slumped into Old Phredd’s armchair, trying to banish thoughts of the badger and concentrate instead on his plans to conquer the Abbey.

Morning rolled on into the summer noon. The crew danced attention upon their captain, but he barely glanced at the food they brought. Instead, he ordered them to bring him volumes and scrolls from the shelves. Bol rifled through them, searching vainly for some clues—a reference or a sketch, perhaps. Anything that would help him gain access to the Abbey building. After awhile he tired of this pursuit and banished the crewrats from the gatehouse. Scattering volumes and parchments over the floor, the Searat captain flung himself upon the bed and fell into a fitful slumber, the coverlet draped over his face.

On waking, Raga Bol saw that the sunlight shafts had shifted across the window. It was late afternoon, merging toward eventide. Rising, he took a mouthful of his favourite grog, swilling it around his mouth, then spat it out sourly. It was silent outside, with no sounds of activity. The Searat captain went swiftly outside.

Rinj was standing upright, propped against the gatepost, obviously sleeping. Raga Bol dealt him a savage kick, knocking Rinj flat. He continued to kick the hapless Searat, accentuating his words.

“Ye scabby-eyed, useless bilge swab! Did I tell ye to go snoozin’ on duty? Wot’s this door barred for, eh? Yore supposed t’be outside, watchin’ for the others t’come back. If’n we was at sea now, I’d tie ye t’the anchor an’ sling yore lazy carcass o’er the side!”

Dragging Rinj upright by his ears, Bol knocked the gate bars up with his hook. He hauled the gates open, still shouting. “I’ll learn ye to disobey yore cap’n’s orders, I’ll . . . Yaaaagh!”

The gates swung inward, revealing Rojin, pinned to the timbers by a huge single arrow, head slumped and footpaws dragging in the dust. Dead as the proverbial doornail!

Beyond the outside path and ditch, out on the flatlands, Lonna Bowstripe roared as he fitted a shaft to his bowstring. “Raga Bol! Death is here! Hellgates await you, Searat! Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!”

Bol took one glance at the avenging giant and hurled himself at the Abbey gates, slamming them and dropping the heavy baulks that served as locks. The wood shivered under the thud of the badger’s massive arrow. Raga Bol leaped back from the gates, as if expecting the shaft to come right through.

Sister Setiva was prying the paws of little Yooch from the dormitory windowsill. “Och, come away from there, ye wee pestilence!” Attracted by the shouting from the gatehouse area, she peered over to see what was amiss there. Raga Bol’s hoarse yells left her in no doubt.

“All paws to the walltops! Bring spears, slings an’ bows. Jump to it, the stripedog’s ’ere!”

Setiva caught Abbot Carrul’s sleeve. “There somebeast oot there, yon Searat’s howlin’ like a madbeast!”

Toran was out the dormitory door, with Martha close on his heels. Carrul and Setiva followed as Toran called to them. “Up t’the floor above, mates, ye can see better from there!”

Redwallers crowded to the second-story windows, which gave them a clear view of all that was taking place. Out on the flatlands, Lonna was raising his bow again. Brother Weld transmitted an excited commentary of what was taking place, for the benefit of those few who could not see. “Great seasons of slaughter, it’s a giant Badger Lord! The Searats are throwing spears, firing slingstones and arrows at him. Haha, their range is too short, their weapons can’t touch him. Oh my, oh golly! Did you see that?”

Old Phredd croaked impatiently. “See what? I can’t see a thing!”

Brother Weld described what he had seen. “The big badger fired off an arrow, huh, more like a spear. It struck a Searat, up on the ramparts. Got the vermin dead centre and drove him clear off the wall onto the lawn!”

Sister Setiva shook her head in disbelief. “Och, what a shot, ah’ve never seen aught like it!”

The Abbeybeasts set up a great cheer. Lonna caught sight of them and waved. Leaning out from the upper windows, the Redwallers waved back furiously, shouting encouragement.

“Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, well done, friend!”

“That’s the stuff big feller, keep those shafts coming!”

“Hurr, zurr hoojbeast, you’m give ee vurmints ole billyoh!”

With her eyes shining fiercely, Martha yelled at Toran, “Isn’t he magnificent! Can’t we do anything to help him?”

The ottercook bit his lip anxiously. “We got nothin’ to throw that’d span the range twixt this Abbey an’ the walltops, ’tis too far off for slingstones. There ain’t a single bow’n’arrer in the buildin’. I’d love to ’elp the big badger, but wot kin we do, miss, wot?”

Brother Gelf, normally a quiet, inobtrusive mouse, spoke out. “Er, I may be able to help, but I’ll need to be down in Great Hall. I think I’ll need a long windowpole, some twine, a couple of those pepper bombs and a few stones. Er, make them slightly larger than slingstones, but not much.”

His curiosity immediately piqued, the Abbot bowed to Gelf. “You shall have them, Brother. Let’s go down to Great Hall. No pushing there, please, let Gelf go first.”

Up on the walltops the Searats were lying low, stunned by the accuracy of the bowbeast. Raga Bol was trying to instil some confidence n his crew. “We’re safe be’ind this wall, buckoes. That stripedog’s got to stay out of our range. Soon as ’e moves forward we’ll get ’im. Ain’t been a beast born yet that spears an’ arrers can’t slay. All’s we gotta do is stay inside these walls!”

Wirga shuffled closer to Bol. “Aye, but while we’re on the inside, the stripedog has us pinned down from the outside. No Searat owns a weapon with the range an’ power of that big bow, Cap’n.”

Bol did not want to hear this. He stared cold-eyed at the Seer. “What would ye ’ave me do then, run out an’ charge ’im?”

The loss of her three sons rankled Wirga, who now did not lose the opportunity to needle Bol. “We outnumber the bigbeast by about twoscore. I never saw a Searat cap’n back off with those odds on his side!”

Before Bol could strike out, or argue against Wirga, a Searat further along the parapet gave out a shout. “Aaargh, wot the . . . Oooch!”

He fell sideways, slain by one of the big arrows. Raga Bol crawled swiftly along and inspected the dead crewrat. “Wot in the name o’ blood’n’thunder ’appened to ’im?”

Cowering fearfully against the battlements, the rat who had been crouching beside the victim babbled out. “I saw it, Cap’n! Gornat was ’it by summat from be’ind. There ’tis, see, one o’ those liddle bags o’ pepper, tied on a string, wid a stone at the other end!”

Bol unwound the object from around Gornat’s waist. “From be’ind, this thing got ’im—ye mean from the Abbey?”

The Searat nodded vigourously. “Aye, it came from over that way, I swear it, Cap’n. Pore Gornat got a terrible smack from it, the thing ’it ’im an’ wrapped right round ’is waist. It musta cracked a rib, ’cos Gornat shouted an’ jumped up. That’s when the arrer took ’im, straight through the neck!”

Turning to face the Abbey building, Raga Bol saw another of the missiles come whirling through the air. It spun round and round on its twine, weighted on one end by the pepper bomb and on the other by the stone. This time it missed and struck the wallside. The pepper bomb burst, sending its load over two rats crouched directly beneath. One had the sense to stay down and do his sneezing. The other leaped up and sneezed once, then an arrow silenced him for good.

Down in Great Hall, the Redwallers had unblocked the shutters from one of the tall windows.

Toran took the windowpole from Brother Gelf. “Can I try yore new slingpole out, Brother?”

Gelf smiled quietly. “Be my guest, sir.”

Laying the twine across the hooked metal end of the pole, the ottercook raised it straight up, facing out of the window. Holding the end of the pole in both paws, he let it lean back across his shoulder until it lay flat. Then he whipped it upright with swift force. The missile flew off through the high open window. There was a short interval of silence, followed by an agonized screech.

Toran grinned. “It works!”

There was no shortage of the homemade weapons. More window poles were brought, and more volunteers came forward, eager to try out the new weapons. Competition became so fierce that, owing to several of the defenders hurling the missiles at the same time, some of them missed the open window space. These projectiles struck the walls and lintels, bouncing back into Great Hall and bursting. Undeterred, the Abbeybeasts kept going, muffling their faces with towels. Soon, however, the atmosphere proved too much for the onlookers; many fled the scene, sneezing uproariously.

The Dibbuns thought the whole thing was huge fun. They chortled and giggled, dashing about and bumping into one another, shouting, “Hachoo! Blesha! Harrachoo! O blesha blesha!”

Martha helped Abbot Carrul and some of the elders to shepherd the little ones downstairs into Cavern Hole. The haremaid actually carried two Dibbuns down the steps on her back, chuckling and joking with them.

The Abbot cautioned her. “Careful, Martha, should you really be doing that? You don’t want to put too much strain on those limbs!”

Martha deposited the Abbeybabes in a corner seat. “Oh fiddledeedee, Father, I feel stronger than I’ve ever felt. It’s as if I had brand-new footpaws and legs, they’re as supple as greased springs!”

Granmum Gurvel sent down some kitchen helpers to carry baskets of fresh-baked tarts and pastries and jugs of sweet elderflower cordial.

Martha lent a paw to serve the Dibbuns, then went to sit on the stairs with the Abbot. She felt very happy and carefree as they shared the food. “Oh Father, isn’t it wonderful, having that giant badger on our side! I wager things will be different now.”

The Abbot seemed somewhat thoughtful, though he agreed with her. “Yes, indeed, those Searats obviously fear the big badger a lot. Wouldn’t it be marvellous if he were inside the Abbey with us? Things would be so much easier.”

Martha sipped her cordial. “In what way?”

The Abbot warmed to the subject, propounding a theory which had been growing in his mind ever since he had first sighted Lonna standing out on the flatlands.

“Our badger fires that bow like a mighty warrior, that’s for certain. If he were inside the Abbey with us, I guarantee he’d send those Searats packing in short order.”

Martha thought for a moment about what the Abbot had said. “Aye, he could stand at the dormitory windows and pick the Searats off at his leisure. They’re hemmed in by the outer walls, so it would make it hard for them to avoid him. The badger could use the upstairs windows on all sides.”

Abbot Carrul put aside his food. “But the problem is that the badger’s outside the walls at the moment. Those Searats aren’t stupid, they’re not likely to leave Redwall and take their chances outside. Not with that giant and his bow waiting for them.”

Martha saw the wisdom in her Abbot’s logic. “Hmm, that could make Raga Bol doubly dangerous to us because he’ll probably try twice as hard to get inside the Abbey now. It would give him an advantage over the badger, who would have to fight his way into the grounds and take the Searats on from inside the grounds. That would place him in range of their weapons. Oh dear, I wonder what the answer is to all of this!”

Carrul had already anticipated the problem. Unfortunately, he could not hold out a great deal of hope. “We need to contact our badger friend and get him inside here, but that’s not possible. The Searats are standing between him and us. We’ll just have to wait our chance, though there isn’t much likelihood of that at present.”

Martha tried to hide the frustration in her voice. “But there won’t be a much better opportunity than right now. Most of the Searats’ attention is on the badger. If only we had somebeast who could slip out unnoticed! Whoever it was could leave by the small eastwall gate. They’d be shielded from any attention by the Abbey building. It wouldn’t be hard to steal through the woodlands to the corner of the northwest wall. When it got dark, it would be simple to creep out onto the flatlands and make contact with the badger. Then they could both return the same way.”

The Abbot folded both paws within his wide habit sleeves. “No, ’tis far too risky at the moment, Martha. We’ll wait—tomorrow, perhaps. Oh dear, all this worry and strife. I’m longing for the day when those villains are long gone from Redwall and we can all get back to a normal, peaceful life.”

Martha stood up. “Don’t fret, Father, it’ll happen when you least expect it. Do you know, I feel restless. Think I’ll exercise my new walking skills. I’ll go up to the dormitory windows and see how things are going. Best steer clear of Great Hall, and all those pepper bombs bursting inside.”

The Abbot smiled wearily at his young friend. “Take things easy, Martha, don’t go tiring yourself out.”

She paused on the stairway. “Oh, I’ll go as slowly as Old Phredd. By the way, Father, could you do me a favour? Will you sit guard on these stairs and make sure those Dibbuns don’t go rushing back to Great Hall?”

Abbot Carrul stretched himself lengthways across the step. “Certainly. I might doze off a little, but they won’t get past me. You go on now, and remember what I said about taking things easy!”

However, taking things easy was the last thing on the young haremaid’s mind. Martha had a mission: she would be the one to contact the badger. She went up to the back rooms on the east side, choosing one that was mainly used as a linen store. It was filled with blankets, sheets and tablecloths.

Knotting bedsheets together, she fashioned a makeshift rope, reasoning aloud to herself. “Finally I can do something useful to help Redwall. Now I can walk, and run, too. After all those seasons stuck in a chair, it would be a crime to waste my new gift!”

Climbing down the rope was easier than the haremaid had imagined. She had forgotten how strong her grip had become from wheeling a chair about for most of her life.