Mattimeo

Chapter 19

Late evening shades turned the stones of Redwall Abbey to a dull crimson, the last rays of the sun sending

slender slivers of ruby and gold from behind a purple-blue cloudbank. Beneath the ground, Constance sat

holding baby Rollo as they watched the Foremole and his team working expertly to remove the great

foundation stone. They had bars, wedges and timber props, besides chisels and hauling ropes. The mole

leader gave directions as he scuttled here and there surveying the job.

“You’m a-finisht chiselen thurr. Rooter?”

“Aye, that’ll do et, zurr.”

“Jarge, set they wedgin’s in. Gaffer’n oi’ll sloid these yurr greasy planks under. You’n Rooter set they

ropes’n’ooks in’t stone. Stay a-clear, missis, an’ moind yon hinfant.”

A large solid implement which the moles called a “gurtpaw” had been set up. It was a strange affair

resembling a sideways block and tackle. The busy mole workbeasts attached the ropes to a big round

treetrunk bobbin and began cranking a long stout beech handle. Baby Rollo gazed wide-eyed. He

whispered to Winifred the Otter. “What they doin’?”

“Hush now, little un, and watch. See, the slack’s bein’ taken up on those ropes the more they work that

handle.”

Gradually the ropes tightened and began to creak and strain. The massive stone block moved a fraction,

and its base was now resting on three flat well-greased sycamore planks. The moles began shouting in an

even chant:

“Yurr she coom!

Hurr she doo!

Yurr she coom!

’eave, mole crew!”

The Founder’s stone began sliding out of the place where it had been set long ages ago. It moved at an

angle, leaving Foremole room to scurry in and jam two upright sections of green pine as props.

“Look Rollo, see, the big stone is moving!” Cornflower was almost dancing with excitement.

Ants dashed this way and that, stone ground against stone, rope hawsers creaked and groaned as the

mole crew chanted their rock-moving song, with baby Rollo’s gruff little voice singing in time with them.

More props were brought up as the stone block slid ponderously forward, leaving a large square hole in the

wall.

“Cease’n’alt, moles, the job be dun!” Foremole’s announcement set his crew to leaning and panting

against the gurtpaw, their tongues lolling out as they passed a canteen of cider from one to another. The

mole leader stood to one side and bowed low.

“Thurr it be, gennelbeasts, take they torcher an’ ’ave a gudd viewen insoides.”

Smiling happily, Winifred and Cornflower congratulated the moles. “Well done, Foremole. Thank you,

team, you did work hard. We could never have moved such a stone without you.”

If a mole could have blushed, it would have been the Foremole. He and his crew stood about,

awkwardly kicking the loose earth with their blunt digging paws.

“Hurr, bless ee, marm, it wurr a nuthin’, glad to be o’ survice.”

With Cornflower in the lead, they made their way through the hole. The torch was guttering low.

Winifred bade them stand still. Moving around the walls, the otter found dried brushwood torches in

rusting metal sconces. She touched each one with her own torch as she passed, and she soon had the whole

place illuminated.

It was a large square rock chamber with an earthen floor. In one corner there was a massive anthill reaching

halfway up the wall. They skirted it, taking care not to disturb the little folk. Cornflower’s breath caught in

her throat at the sight that confronted them. It was a beautiful redstone statue of a wise old mouse, sitting

on a simple chair of wrought stone, one paw upraised, the other holding open a stone book which lay in her

lap.

Winifred gazed at the kindly old face. It had a wrinkly smile, small square spectacles perched on the

end of its nose and drooping whiskers which gave it a homely look. “By the fur! She seems to be watchin’

us. I wonder who she was?”

Cornflower instinctively knew. “That’s old Abbess Germaine, the designer of Redwall. I’m sure of it.

She looks so peaceful and gentle sitting there.”

Foremole brushed dusty earth from the base of the statue. “Lookit yurr!” he called.

In the flickering torchlights, Cornflower stooped to read the inscription carved on the base plinth:

“Germaine, first Abbess of Redwall. I came from home to find a home. The seasons were good

to me. Here I will rest with the little folk.”

Winifred nodded in admiration. “That’s how it should be. She looks a nice old cove, sittin’ there with her

specs an’ her book.”

Foremole mounted the base and ran heavy expert paws over the statue. “Creatur’ oo carven this’n were

a maister, mark moi word. It be a gurt piece o’ work, hurr.”

“Yes indeed,” Cornflower agreed. “Look, there’s even a little stone ant crawling up the pages of the

book. But what are we supposed to be looking for?”

Winifred shrugged. “Blowed if I know. Seems we’ve gone to a lot of trouble just to find a wonderfully

carved statue. Very nice, but not much help.”

They began searching the chamber carefully from earthen floor to stone ceiling, checking each stone in

the walls without success.

“Ho hummm!” Cornflower yawned. “I think we’d better leave it for tonight and come here again

tomorrow. It must be late night now. Come on, baby Rollo, or we’ll miss supper. Come down here, you

little terror.”

The infant bankvole had climbed up on the statue. He was sitting on the knee of the Abbess, alongside

the stone book she held in her lap. Winifred went after him. He tried to wriggle away, but she caught him

and lifted him off the statue’s lap. As she did, Rollo grabbed at the replica of the tiny stone ant crawling

upon the open pages of the book. Much to Winifred’s annoyance, it came away in his paw.

“Naughty Rollo! Ooh, you little scallawag, you’ve broken the lovely statue.”

Rollo held the stone ant up to show Winifred that he had not broken it. There was a copper pin beneath

it which had been holding it in place upon a small hole drilled in the stone pages. “Not broke, Win, look.”

“Moind ee, missis!” The team mole Gaffer pawed Cornflower swiftly to one side and threw himself flat

at the foot of the statue. When baby Rollo had picked up the stone ant on the copper pin, something

happened to the book which lay sloping downward from the lap of the Abbess Germaine.

The pages of the book, which looked for all the world like a solid slab cunningly carved to represent a

block of pages, slipped. A thin section slid out from the block and fell towards the floor. Luckily, Gaffer had

noticed it beginning to move, and the fragile tablet of stone landed on his soft furred back as he lay beneath

the statue. Fortunately it was not damaged. Patting him gratefully on the head, Cornflower reverently

picked up the delicate tablet in both paws.

“Well saved, Gaffer! This is what we were looking for. Who would have thought it. A stone page from a

stone book, covered in writing too!”