Loamhedge

37

Martha closed the east wallgate behind her but left it unbolted. Her heart pounded wildly as she stole shakily through the night-shadowed woodlands, hugging the wall. The haremaid knew it had been an ill-advised plan, but she realised that the Abbot, or any sane Redwaller, would have forbidden her to venture on this mission alone. Her footpaws were trembling as she turned the corner to the north wall. Willing them to be still, she strove to gain control of her body. Every once in awhile, she heard weapons clanking on the parapet above. The Searats were patrolling the ramparts. The moment it went quiet, she would inch forward again.

Lonna had lit a fire out on the flatlands facing the west Abbey wall. He piled up brush and twigs into a heap, placing it so that from a distance it could be mistaken for himself, seated by the fire in the darkness. Moving off to his left he settled down, accustoming his eyes to the night. Setting a shaft to his bowstring, he watched the battlements. Soon a vermin head poked up cautiously, seeing the decoy by the fire and mistaking it for the badger. The Searat on the wall stood upright. Leaning outward, he peered toward the fire, trying to make sure that it was Lonna who was sitting crouched there. The big bow twanged, and the arrow took the Searat through his skull, sending him slamming backward onto the walkway. Hearing the resultant commotion from the walltop, the badger shifted his position, moving closer to the wall.

Raga Bol’s voice was immediately recognisable as he roared directions to his confused crew. “The stripedog’s somewhere out ’ere, on the far west end. Keep yore ’eads down, ye fools, or ye’ll end like that ’un. Chakka, get over this way, the stripedog’s over ’ere, not on the north side!”

Lonna edged closer, until he could hear Chakka’s reply. “But, Cap’n, there’s somebeast down here, sneakin’ alongside the wall. It ain’t as big as the stripedog, though. Wonder who it could be?”

Crouching, Raga Bol made his way across to the north wall. He risked a swift peek over the space between the battlements. “Gimme yore spear! ’Tis an Abbeybeast tryin’ to reach the big ’un, I’ll wager. Blast yore eyes, gimme the spear afore it gets away!”

Martha made a break and ran for it, out across the path. She stumbled and tripped, going headlong into the ditch, which skirted the outside path. Thunk! The spear quivered in the ditchside.

Raga Bol saw another Searat getting up from a crouch to pass him a second weapon. “Ye missed, Cap’n, but only just! Take my spear, ’tis me lucky one . . . Unngh!”

Bol hurled himself flat as the spear clattered to the parapet beside the slain crewrat. “Down, all of ye, down!”

Lonna was running toward the ditch, firing off arrows with amazing speed, one after another. They pinged off the stonework and shattered against the northwest wall corner, keeping the vermin down.

Martha narrowly avoided the huge bulk that crashed into the ditch beside her. She gasped, “Sir, I came from the Abbey, my name’s Mar . . .”

A massive paw cut off further explanation, as she was grabbed up and tucked beneath the giant badger’s quiver. It bumped against her cheek as he rushed headlong through the ditch going northward, away from the Abbey.

A deep voice sounded close to her ear. “Time for introductions later, let’s get out of range first!”

Martha felt like a Dibbun’s plaything. Everything about the badger was immense—his paw, his long arrows poking from the quiver, the great bow he carried, his colossal frame. Everything! Moonlit spaces flickered past as she and the badger left the ditch and sought the shelter of Mossflower woodlands. Martha saw the badger’s face. It was deeply scarred and roughly stitched, giving him a savage and fearful appearance. But his eyes were soft and gentle, friendly, the eyes of a friend.

Lonna placed her down gently. “Now, you were saying?”

The haremaid tried not to be intimidated by his size. “Thank you, sir, I was saying . . . We have need of you inside Redwall Abbey. I stole out to get you . . . Oh, my name is Martha Braebuck . . .”

The bigbeast crouched, coming level with her face. “Braebuck? I met your brother and his friends on the side of the high cliffs. Shouldn’t you be in some kind of chair with wheels, miss?”

Martha found herself babbling. “You met Horty, oh, is he alright? Bragoon, Saro, all of them, are they safe? Please tell me about them. Have they been ill or injured in any way? Oh, I’ve been worried out of my mind . . .”

The badger’s paw covered her face as he placed it over her mouth. “Hush, little Martha, your friends are fine. I’d like to stand here all night talking with you, but you say they have need of me inside your Abbey. Can you show me the way back in there? By the way, my name’s Lonna Bowstripe.”

Martha bobbed a small curtsy. Then she was swung up and placed upon the badger’s shoulder as he moved off swiftly.

“Point me in the right direction, Martha Braebuck!” Holding on to his ear with one paw and the bowstring with the other, Martha showed him the way. “Straight ahead, Sir Lonna, you can see the belltower showing above the trees.”

He chuckled. “Just call me plain old Lonna.”

She whispered into his ear. “Lonna it is, you can call me Martha. I only get the full title when I’m being told off.”

Raga Bol sought out Wirga. “Those poison darts, have ye got any of ’em?”

The old Searat drew a rod from her cloak. “Aye, Cap’n, there’s one inside this. ’Tis the tube that I shoot ’em through.”

She unplugged the ends of the rod, letting a dart show from it. “See, my little messenger of death!”

Bol murmured to her. “I’m thinkin’ that the stripedog’ll try t’get inside the Abbey buildin’. He’s got t’be stopped. Do this for me an I’ll give ye anythin’ y’want!”

Wirga shuffled to the wallsteps. “My price will be high, I warn thee. I have already lost three sons.”

The Searat captain spread his paws wide. “Anythin’!”

Wirga looked up from the lawn. “ ’Tis as good as done!”

Abbot Carrul stood at the open window with Toran and Sister Setiva. He covered his eyes at the sight of the knotted linen rope hanging over the sill.

“I knew it, though it only occurred to me awhile after she’d been speaking with me. Oh Martha, why did you have to go and do it?”

But Toran did not stop to argue the point. He was already over the sill, clutching the linen rope and lowering himself down.

Sister Setiva leaned out of the window. “Och, ye’ll get caught by yon vermin if ye go out there!”

The ottercook dropped to the ground and drew his sling. “Martha must’ve gone out by the east wallgate to find the badger. I’m goin’ to look for her, you stay by here an’ keep watch for us. Pull yoreself t’gether, Carrul!”

The Abbot stood by the window with Sister Setiva. “I should have known, I should have stopped her!”

Placing a comforting paw about him, the Infirmary Keeper shook her head. “Ah’ll have a wee word wi’ Martha when she returns. Ah thought it was only her brother who acted silly. Don’t blame yersel’, Father, yer no’ a mindreader! How were ye tae know the maid wid do sich a thing?”

Toran was stealing across the back lawn, when he saw Wirga ahead of him. He crouched low and watched her as she neared the east wallgate, then halted, obviously having heard something. Then Wirga scurried to a rhododendron bush, which grew close to the wall, hiding herself behind it.

The small door creaked on its hinges as it opened. Martha entered the Abbey grounds. Her paw lost in Lonna’s grip, the haremaid turned and smiled at him. “Home at last, welcome to Redwall, Lonna!”

The badger had to stoop as he came through the gate. Toran saw Wirga slowly stand upright, placing the blowpipe to her mouth. There was no time to stop and think. He acted speedily. Bounding forward, the ottercook threw himself sideways, slamming into the Searat. Wirga’s head hit the sandstone wall with a resounding crack, immediately reuniting her with her three sons.

Martha pulled on Lonna’s paw as he whipped the long knife from his arm sheath. “Don’t hurt him, that’s my friend Toran!”

Lonna took hold of the ottercook’s apron and stood him upright. Toran blinked past him at the haremaid. “Martha, is that you, matey?”

She ran forward and hugged him. “Oh Toran, that was a brave thing to do. Quick, let’s get inside, there might be more Searats prowling about!”

Other Redwallers had found their way to the linen room. There were many willing paws to assist Toran and Martha back inside the Abbey. Lonna, however, was a different matter. Extra cloths and sheets had to be knotted into the makeshift rope. The badger’s weight was such that no amount of helpers could even raise him from the ground. Tossing his bow and quiver up to Toran, the big badger made his own way, paw over paw, up the Abbey wall to the room. At first, Martha thought Lonna would burst the window frame, but he managed to squeeze through with a certain amount of grunting and wriggling.

The haremaid beamed proudly at the Abbot as she presented her new friend to him. “Father, this is Lonna Bowstripe. He has volunteered to help us. Lonna, this is the Father Abbot Carrul of Redwall!”

There was a deal of comment from the awestruck onlookers.

“Good grief, will you look at the size of him!”

“Hurr, oi never see’d nobeast as gurt as that ’un!”

“Look, his head almost touches the ceiling!”

Without registering the least surprise, Abbot Carrul shook the badger’s massive paw. “Welcome to Redwall, Lonna, and my thanks to you for returning our Martha unscathed. It was a brave deed.”

Lonna immediately took a liking to the dignified old mouse. “Thank you, Father, it’s a pleasure to be here. I will do all I can to rid your home of Raga Bol and his Searats.”

Carrul bowed gravely, then turned his attention to the onlookers. They were still commenting on the new arrival’s size, speculating as to how his face came to be so dreadfully wounded. The Abbot stared them into silence.

“It has always been our manner to welcome visitors and offer them refreshment. Have you nothing better to do than embarrass our guest with your remarks?”

Muttering apologies, the Redwallers hurried off downstairs to comply with their Abbot’s wishes.

Carrul beckoned to Lonna. “Come, friend, you must be hungry and tired. Let Martha and me offer you our hospitality. You must forgive our Abbeybeasts, they meant no offence.”

Lonna followed Martha and the Abbot from the linen room. “No offence taken, Father. I would be surprised if they had not mentioned the way I look. Anybeast I’ve ever met does.”

Martha gave him a reproving look. “I never mentioned your appearance. Neither did Abbot Carrul or Toran, for that matter.”

Lonna gave the haremaid one of his rare smiles. “Then I have made three good and sensible friends tonight. I think I’m going to enjoy Redwall Abbey.”

Everybeast stayed up late that night, crowding into Cavern Hole to see the giant badger. Granmum Gurvel and her helpers trundled to and fro from the kitchens, bringing lots of delicious food for the guest, and for all present. Lonna sat staring at the array of fine things. Then Foremole Dwurl presented him with an outsized portion of his own personal favourite.

“Yurr zurr, this bee’s deeper’n’ever turnip’n’tater’n’ beetroot pie. If’n ee doant wish t’be h’offendin’ ee cook, you’m best eat ’earty. Thurr bee’s aplenty more whurr that cummed frumm, an’ ee cook’s a gurt fearsome ole villyun!”

The badger took an amused glance at the dumpy figure of Granmum Gurvel, then set to with a will. Redwallers gazed in wonder as the hungry giant satisfied his appetite.

Sister Setiva even ventured a wry wink at Lonna. “Och, there’s nothin’ worse than a beast with a wee flimsy appetite, pickin’ away at his vittles, ah always say!”

Lonna accepted a full deep-dish apple-and-blackberry crumble from the Infirmary Keeper. He dug into it with gusto. “Aye, marm, but you must forgive me. They tell me I was a very fussy babe. It’s a wonder how I survived!”

His observation broke the ice; the Redwallers burst out laughing in appreciation of their visitor’s ready wit.

After the meal, they sat entranced, as Lonna related his story, which included his meeting with the travellers. The Dibbuns had infiltrated the gathering, slowly encroaching until they were sitting on Lonna’s footpaws. Craning their necks, they stared in goggle-eyed admiration at the one who had confessed to being a fussy babe. Lonna gained them extra time, interceding with the elders not to send the Abbeybabes up to bed. Infants were always a source of amazement to him, he marvelled at their minute size and lack of shyness with strangers.

Having finished his narrative, Lonna asked Martha to tell him of how she came to be walking. The haremaid obliged willingly. Muggum had managed to scale the badger’s footpaws and now sat upon his lap.

Tugging the badger’s paw, the molebabe succeeded in gaining his attention. “You’m surpinkly a gurt creetur! Zurr Lonn’, ’ow big bee’s yore bed?”

Lonna looked thoughtful and adopted a serious tone. “Hmm, it’s quite large, and wide, too, though I’ve give up carrying it around with me. Why do you ask, sir?”

Muggum waved a tiny paw generously. “You’m best take moi bed, Lonn. Oop in ee dormittees et bee’s!”

The talk went back and forth, encouraged by beakers of mulled October Ale for the elders and raspberry cup for the young ones. After awhile, the old ones fell into a doze; the Dibbuns, too, no longer able to keep their eyes open, curled up and slept where they chose.

Abbot Carrul took advantage of the lull in the conversation, murmuring to Lonna, “Come up to the kitchens, there’s an empty storeroom there. We’ll set up a sleeping place for you. But before that, I must talk to you, friend. We’ll formulate a plan to defeat the enemy and free this Abbey. Martha, Toran, Sister Portula, Brother Weld, would you come, too? I’d like you to take part in the discussion.”

That night, in the quiet of the storeroom, they formulated their plans. Lonna’s status as a seasoned warrior, and his expertise in the ways of his enemy Searats, earned him the main say in the discussion. His ideas made sense to his friends, although his first words were in the form of a request.

“I need more arrows, good stout shafts, and well pointed. Have you any in the building?”

Toran answered. “I’m sorry, Lonna, we haven’t, but I can look for some wood and make your arrows.”

Brother Weld interrupted the ottercook. “Last winter, Brother Gelf and I found an ash tree, which had collapsed outside the east wall. Skipper and his otters helped us to chop the trunk into firelogs. Gelf and I took about six sheaves of long branches from it and bundled them up. We planned on cutting them into smaller sizes to use in the orchard, for fencing and propping up berry vines. But we never got round to it. They’re still piled up under the belltower stairs. Those ash branches will be well seasoned now, perfect for making arrows!”

Toran patted Weld’s back. “Good work, Brother, bring them to the wine cellar. Pore Junty Cellarhog had a little forge and anvil down there. I can make arrowheads from barrel-stave iron, Junty kept a whole stock o’ the stuff.”

Lonna looked from one to the other enquiringly. “Flights?”

Sister Portula had an immediate answer. “There’s a whole cupboardful of grey goose feathers in my room. I’ll be glad to see the last of them. Two autumns back, Sister Setiva fixed the wing of a gosling, whose father was the leader of a goose skein. The geese were so grateful that they donated a load of loose feathers to me. I was supposed to cut the ends and use them as writing quills. Dearie me, they gave us enough for ten recorders to use for seven lifetimes. Please, Lonna, would you take them? If you’ll relieve me of the burden, I’ll recruit a team of elders to shape and bind them to your arrow shafts.”

The badger agreed readily. “Thank you, Sister, there’s no better flight for a shaft than a goose feather. I’ve been using gull feathers from the northeast shores, but they don’t have the strength and firmness of good goose plumage.”

Martha spoke. “You’ll have a full supply of arrows, Lonna.”

Stretched out on a heap of clean sacks, the big badger gazed up at the ceiling, sure now of what he was going to do. “Nobeast can live without food and water. Martha, I want you and a few others to patrol the windows all around the Abbey, where the Searats would find things to eat or drink.”

The haremaid replied. “You mean the orchard and the Abbey pond? There’s also a vegetable garden adjoining the orchard. Since the Searats arrived, they’ve taken water and fished from the pond, and as for the orchard, they’re hardly ever out of there and the vegetable garden. Isn’t that right, Father?”

Carrul clenched his jaw. “Correct, Martha. Those scum! I dread to think of the state our crops will be in. After all the hard work Redwallers did. Well, Lonna, you’ll have a fair view of it. Orchard, vegetable patch and pond—they are all clearly visible from our south-facing windows.”

Lonna reached for his bow and began running a small piece of beeswax up and down the string. “Perfect. How many arrows have I left in my quiver, Toran?”

The ottercook took a look and returned grinning. “Twenty-three . . . and a molebabe. Muggum’s sleeping in there!” The little mole grumbled dozily as Sister Portula extricated him. “Oi got to stop urr. Lonn’ bee’s sleepin’ in moi bed!”

Abbot Carrul took charge of the molebabe. “Then you can sleep in my big armchair, you rascal. In fact, I think it’s time we all got a rest, there’s lots to do once the day breaks. Right, Lonna?”

Bloodred tinges suffused the badger’s eyes, his bowstring twanging aloud as he tested it. He gritted one word from between his clenched teeth. “Right!”

The Abbot hurriedly ushered his charges from the storeroom. “We’ll leave you to your sleep now, friend. Goodnight.”

There was no reply. Closing the door behind them, Toran the ottercook exchanged meaningful glances with the Abbot. “Did ye see that, Father? Lonna’s possessed of the Bloodwrath!”

Martha looked from one to the other, perplexed. “What’s the Bloodwrath, some sort of sickness?”

Toran grasped her paw so hard that she winced. “Lissen to me, young ’un. You stay out o’ that beast’s way until his eyes clear up again. Badgers ain’t responsible for wot they do when Bloodwrath comes upon ’em, d’ye hear?”

The haremaid managed a frightened little nod. “Lonna wouldn’t hurt us, would he?”

The Abbot signalled Toran and the others to their beds. He walked through Great Hall with Martha, who was carrying the sleeping molebabe.

Carrul talked quietly with her. “Do as Toran has told you, pretty one. Only be close to Lonna when you have to. Creatures such as us know little of Bloodwrath, but grown badgers of his size can be very dangerous to anybeast when it strikes them. Take your friends tomorrow, patrol the south windows on the first and second floor. The moment you sight Searats in the grounds, report straight to Lonna. Then get out of the way. Redwallers have no business hanging around a badger who is taken by Bloodwrath. Believe me, Martha, I tell you that Lonna needs to avenge himself and his dead friend upon Raga Bol and his crew. He is here for no other reason. Go to your bed now and remember what I have said.”

Carrul took the sleeping Muggum from Martha and went into his room. The haremaid looked up at the figure of Martin the Warrior on his tapestry. There was no need of visitations or dream speeches from the gallant protector of Redwall. His eyes seemed to say it all. She bowed respectfully to Martin, then went to her bed, still puzzled but obedient to her Abbot and the guiding spirit of her Abbey.

Death came to Redwall at dawn. A Searat came bursting into the gatehouse and raised Raga Bol from the bed where he had lain sprawled and twitching in broken dreams. “Cap’n, the stripedog’s just kilt Cullo an’ Baleclaw. They was fishin’ in the pond an’ ’e slayed ’em both wid one arrer!”

Bol came upright, his silver hook thrusting through the rat’s baggy shirt as he dragged him forward. “Killed ’em wid one arrer! Have ye been at the grog agin, Griml?”

The rat wailed. “I saw it meself, Cap’n. They was stannin’ in the water, one afront o’ the other, when a big arrer pins ’em both through their neckscruffs, like fishes on a reed!”

Bol thrust Griml roughly out the gatehouse. “Rally the crew, an’ fetch Wirga t’me. Move yourself!”

Griml’s mate, Deadtooth, was crouching beside the wallsteps. He, too, had witnessed the slaying of two Searats with one arrow. Deadtooth caught up with Griml. “Wot did Bol say?”

Griml shrugged unhappily. “Not much, just booted me out an’ tole me t’bring the crew an’ fetch Wirga.”

Deadtooth persisted. “Don’t the Cap’n know Wirga’s dead? They found ’er just as it went light. Somebeast ’ad knocked the daylights outer ’er agin the wall. But ye knew that, didn’t ye? Yew shoulda told Bol.”

Griml nervously looked this way and that. “Hah, yew go an’ tell ’im, if’n ye dare. I don’t want no silver ’ook guttin’ me. I wish we was afloat at sea, like last springtime. I tell ye, mate, we’ve ’ad nought but bad luck since we dropped anchor in this rotten place!”

Griml caught sight of several Searats emerging from behind a small ornamental hedge where they had been sleeping. “Ahoy, youse lot, Cap’n wants ter see ye, right now at the gate’ouse, ye best jump to it . . .”

There was a piercing scream from the orchard as a crewrat staggered out, transfixed by an arrow. Still holding a half-ripe pear in his claws, he took one more pace and crumpled in a still heap. Griml gestured at him wildly. “See, wot did I tell ye? There’s Rotpaw gone now, a good ole messmate like ’im, off to ’ellgates afore a bite o’ brekkist passed ’is pore lips. I said this place is bad luck, didn’t I?”