Mattimeo

Chapter 53

The Summer of the Golden Plain drew to a glorious finish, and the yellow flowers faded and died. Matthias

had not returned to Redwall, but still Cornflower did not give up hope. She even pleaded with the Abbot

not to name the season. Though Mordalfus had chosen Autumn of the Early Chestnut, he bowed to

Cornflower’s wishes. Stryk Redkite had returned to her beloved mountains, and the orchard was beginning

to get heavy with the rich harvest of fruit and berries.

Cornflower stood on the south wall and faithfully kept up her vigil with Mrs. Churchmouse and Rollo.

“See, the woodlands are turning brown and russet. Soon the hazelnut and acorn will be ready for

gathering. We’ll miss Jess and Sam; nobeast gathers the nuts as well as a squirrel,” she said sadly.

“Aye, beechnuts too,” Mrs. Churchmouse added. “Remember last autumn, when all the young ones

went into Mossflower nut-gathering? My Tim and Tess both had long sticks to knock them down from the

low branches.”

Cornflower sighed. “My Matti got into trouble over the nut-gathering. He took his father’s sword from

the gatehouse to rattle the branches with. Oh, I do wish he and Matthias were back, Mrs. Churchmouse.”

“If hopes were honey we’d have a cupboardful, Cornflower. Ah well, we’d best get indoors. It’s way

past young master Rollo’s bedtime. Who’s on supper tonight?” Mrs. Churchmouse asked, to change the

subject.

“Er, Sister May and Brother Trugg. It should be something nice. Come on, little Rollo, supper and bye-

byes.”

The infant took Cornflower’s paw as they descended the wallsteps.

“A come t’morrer on wall?” he wanted to know.

“Yes, Rollo. We’ll come to the wall tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that until my Mattimeo

comes back. Do you remember Mattimeo?”

Rollo rubbed a tiny paw into his eyes. He was tired. “A’member ’timeo.”

Supper was good: redcurrant fritters and honeybread with hot elderberry cordial. The Abbey had been

repaired after the bird damage, food was plentiful and the season was mild, yet a gloom hung over the

Abbey without the presence of absent loved ones.

Cornflower sat late at table with Constance and the Abbot. Ambrose Spike had gone to his wine cellar,

Mrs. Churchmouse and John had carried Rollo off to the dormitory, and all the other Redwallers had gone

off to settle down for the night. The only sound was Winifred and Brother Rufus laying the trays out in the

kitchen for next morning’s baking.

Mordalfus folded up his glasses and yawned. “Still no sign of them yet, Cornflower?”

“No, Father Abbot. But don’t you worry, they’ll come home soon.”

“You have great faith, daughter. That is good. But we must learn in this life that the time comes to be

realistic. You must see that they’ve been gone nearly a season’s length now. That is a long time in the span

of any creature.”

A tear rolled down Cornflower’s cheek, and she wiped it away busily.

“Oh dear, my eyes get so watery when I’m tired. Maybe I should get Brother Dan to make me spectacles

like yours.”

Constance’s heart went out to the brave little mouse, and the badger stood up decisively.

“Right, it’s quarter moon tomorrow night. If they’re not back by the time the moon is full, then I’m

going out to look for them!”

The Abbot nodded his approval. “An excellent idea, old friend. I’ll send the remaining sparrows with

you and whoever you choose to take.”

They shook paws across the table. Constance winked cheerily at Cornflower.

“Come on, Cornflower. Off to bed with you, or you’ll be too tired to climb those south wall steps

tomorrow.”

When Cornflower had gone, Constance shook her head.

“I’m afraid I must agree with you, Mordalfus. A season is a long time, and the longer they’re away the

less chance they stand of coming back.”

“I know, Constance, but I couldn’t say that in front of Cornflower. She keeps her hopes up, though she

looks so sad these days, and the churchmice too. D’you really suppose they’ll come back?”

Constance toyed with some crumbs on the tabletop. “My heart likes to think so. However, my brain

tells me different. At least the hope that we’ll be sending a search party out soon should cheer her up. Ah

well, come on, young feller, it’s past bedtime.”

The two friends shuffled off wearily up the steps into Great Hall.

Shortly before dawn, Cornflower turned restlessly on her pallet in the dormitory. She had decided not to

sleep in the gatehouse cottage until her family was reunited. Soft voices rang through her head as grey

figures stole across her dreams. “Matthias, is that you, are you back?” she called out in her sleep. “No, wait,

you’re not Matthias. It’s Mattimeo. Oh, my little Matti, how you’ve grown. Is it really you? Come closer

and let me look at you.”

The figure loomed closer out of the mists of slumber. It was a warrior mouse, neither Matthias or

Mattimeo, but so like them both. The mouse smiled at Cornflower and pointed in the direction of the south

wall.

“Martin becomes Matthias becomes Mattimeo, and so it goes. Go now,” a voice said.

The dream faded as some creature tugged at Cornflower’s paw.

She opened her eyes and sat up, as baby Rollo climbed on the pallet.

“Wanna waterdrink, Rollo firstee,” he pleaded.

Cornflower hurriedly threw on a habit over her nightgown. “Come on, little one, we’ll take water and

bread up on the wall. Let’s have a picnic breakfast. The sun will soon be up.”

Rollo skipped beside her happily. “Water’n’breads, pickernick on wall.”

The sun rose over Mossflower like a ball of red fire, lighting the treetops, and dispelling the long grey and

purple rolls of cloud. The sky was soft pink tinged blue. Birds heralded the day as a light mist rose from the

forest.

Cornflower looked out eagerly over the still woodlands. Not a leaf moved or a blade of grass stirred.

There was nothing out there. She set Rollo’s breakfast out upon the stones. Then, clenching her paws in

determination, she waited. Still nothing.

The morning brightened as Redwall Abbey came alive with the sounds of creatures going about their daily

chores and pursuits. John Churchmouse sat next to his wife at the breakfast table. He looked up from the

maps of Mossflower he was studying.

“No baby Rollo this morning, dear?”

Mrs. Churchmouse passed the cheese to Ambrose. “No, that’s strange. Cornflower’s missing too. I

wonder where they have got to.”

John finished his October ale at a single draught. “Top of the south wall, of course, where they go with

you every day. Come on, I’ll take you up there and we’ll stand with them for a while.”

When they arrived at the south ramparts, Rollo was hurling apple cores over the wall at imaginary rooks.

“Morning, Cornflower. Glad to see you’ve got a warrior to protect you in case of invasion,” John

remarked.

“Oh, good morning to you both. Sorry I didn’t give you a call, but we decided to come up here early

and bring breakfast with us.”

John chuckled. “Good job it wasn’t porridge, the way that young scamp is chucking stuff about. Here,

Rollo, why don’t you try throwing a pebble with your little sling. It’ll go further.”

Rollo tried, but the pebble kept hitting the top of the wall and bouncing back. Half preoccupied with

watching the antics of the little one, Cornflower turned away from her vigil. Constance joined them, and as

the mice played with the baby bankvole, she looked out across the south reaches, casually at first.

Then Constance froze as if she had been turned to stone. She remained rigid, staring southwards and

slightly west.

Cornflower looked up as she retrieved Rollo’s stone. “Constance, what is it?”

“Dust!”

“Dust? Where from?”

“Seems to be from beyond that bend in the path, behind the trees. I can’t tell yet. Wait a moment…. Yes,

it’s dust all right, and it’s coming this way!”

The three mice scrambled to the top of a battlement. Cornflower jumped up and down, and Constance

had to catch her apron strings to keep her from falling.

“It’s dust! Somebeast is coming up the path, I know it!” Cornflower shouted.

John Churchmouse quickly donned his glasses. “There must be a great many to send up a dust cloud

like that so early on an autumn morning. They’ll be round the bend soon. Listen, can you hear voices?”

Constance leaned forward, straining her ears. Faintly she could catch the strains of voices chanting the

familiar warriors’ cries of Redwall and Mossflower.

Round the bend of the path they came, the paws of the horde raising a cloud of brown dust.

Cornflower could see the leaders as they began to march in double time at the sight of Redwall Abbey.

“It’s Matthias and Mattimeo, they’ve returned!” she shouted.

John Churchmouse and his wife yelled aloud, “Look, there’s our Tess and Tim…. Hooray!”

Constance leaned out across the battlements. “There’s Basil, and Jess and Sam. See, they’ve got young

Cynthia with them!”

“I can see two badgers!”

“There’s an owl. Look, an owl!”

“Hedgehogs, shrews, woodlanders! By the fur and claw, there’s a great army of woodlanders coming

this way!”

“Turn out the Abbey, tell the Father Abbot. Sound the bells!”

Matthias marched shoulder to shoulder with his friends, while the horde packed in behind them gazed up

in awe at the red sandstone Abbey which reared above the trees ahead.

Mattimeo began laughing. Tim, Tess and Cynthia pounded him on the back as they shouted and

cheered wildly:

“Good old Redwall, tell Ambrose to get the barrels open!”

“Who’s that on the walls? It’s your mum. Look, there’s ours too. Mum, Mum! D’you think they can

hear us?”

The Methuselah and the Matthias bells began pealing and clanging out across the clear morning air.

Bong! Clang! Boom! Bong! Clang! Boom!

Basil halted the army. “Right markers, get fell in. Come on, you sloppy lot, we’re coming home like a

proper army, not a ragamuffin crowd. Ranks of six, chins in, chests out, shoulders back. Step lively there,

you at the back, catch up. Come on, come on, laddie buck, you’re not on a daisy-chain ramble now,

y’know. Quick march!”

“Never gives up, does he?” Jess muttered to Sam from the side of her mouth. “You watch, he’ll be the

first to break ranks and charge if anybeast throws a pie over that wall.”

The hot morning sunlight shafted down on the brown dust rising between the green and gold leaves of

Mossflower as the main doors of the old red sandstone Abbey burst open.

The Abbot walked out at the head of the Abbey dwellers. They lined the path facing Matthias at the

head of his army.

There was complete silence as they stood looking at each other.

The warrior mouse unslung his great sword. Stepping forward, he laid it flat in the dust at the paws of

Mordalfus.

“Father Abbot, we have come home.”

There was a mighty cheer which shook the timbers of the main gate frame, then the ranks broke as

every creature dashed forward to greet old friends and meet new ones.

So it was the young ones returned to Redwall.

It took the whole of that day in the Abbot’s study for the full story to unfold from both sides.

Matthias, Jess, Basil and Orlando, with Mattimeo, Tim, Tess, Sam, Cynthia and Auma, crowded in

alongside Cornflower, Constance and Ambrose Spike.

Food was brought in to them as the young ones related all that had happened from the night of the

feast to Malkariss’s cells. Matthias, Orlando, Jess and Basil related the hunt for the young ones from the

same night up to the death of Slagar.

It was late afternoon before they were done. The Abbot had listened intently to the harrowing narrative.

He shook his head sadly.

“In the midst of all our joyous reunion we must never forget fallen friends, particularly Queen Warbeak

and Log-a-Log. I will hold services for all our fallen friends at the first sunrise of spring, and they will

remain dear to our memories for all the seasons to come.”

In the sad silence that followed, Matthias decided to lighten the mood of the proceedings a little. He

slapped his paw down on the table.

“Well then, Mordalfus you old twig, I suppose you’ve been sitting here twiddling your paws while

we’ve been away. Tell me, how did you manage to keep busy?”

The Abbot chuckled. “Oh, we managed, I suppose. However, I’ll let Cornflower tell you about that.”

Cornflower took her paw from around Mattimeo’s shoulder for the first time that day. She stood up and

grinned mischievously.

“Hmmm, it was as dull as ditchwater without our warriors and young ones about. Then one fine day

we had a visit from some birds. Let me tell you about it….”

They listened spellbound, fuming with indignity at the thought of baby Rollo being held hostage, cheering

for Sister May and her drugged strawberries, laughing aloud at the warrior ghost mouse and the terror it

caused among the rooks, and finally applauding Constance and Stryk Redkite at the final struggle.

Mattimeo picked up his father’s sword and offered it to Cornflower.

“Here, Mum, you should be the Champion of Redwall!”

Matthias shook his head in amazement. “By the claw and the fur! What a brave bunch we have at our

Abbey. I would dearly like to meet this Stryk Redkite.”

Constance gazed fondly at Auma as she stroked the young one’s headstripes. “You will, Matthias, you

will, someday. Now, we must find quarters for our new friends. Sister May and Brother Rufus will open

the infirmary to all, for sore paws and old wounds must be treated. I’m afraid there’s no supper tonight.

You’ll have to go straight to bed. Anyhow, you lot look as if a long rest will do you good.”

Basil’s ears flopped with disappointment. “What, no supper? I say, Constance old fruit, the only thing

that’s kept B. Stag Hare on his paws for nearly a full season was the hope of a good old scoff at Redwall. I

mean, what’s a chap to do if he’s had the old nosebag cut off, wot, wot? Bad form, old gel, t’ say nothin’ of

rank bad manners to our guests. No supper. I don’t believe it!”

Mrs. Churchmouse slapped Basil smartly upon the paw. “Mr. Stag Hare, will you kindly give your

overworked jaws a rest and be quiet! Thank you. Now let me explain. The reason that we are not cooking

supper is that the season is to be named first thing tomorrow: the Autumn of the Warriors’ Return. All our

Abbey dwellers have volunteered to work through the night, but new arrivals must sleep and keep out of

the way. Starting at sunup, we are going to hold a feast in the orchard.”

Basil’s ears stood up like two signals. “A f-feast, y’say, marm. Will it be a big un?”

Cornflower spread her paws. “The biggest one you’ve ever sat down to, Basil.”

“Golly! Bigger than the summer feast?”

“Far bigger!”

“An’ you’re all goin’ to cook right through the night?”

“Oh yes, that’s why we don’t want you under our paws. Otherwise we might not have it ready on

time.”

“Got it, marm. All the weary warriors sleep while you sportin’ creatures cook up a whackin’ breakfast.

Right?”

“Right!”

Basil shot out of the Abbot’s study like a rocket, calling over his shoulder as he went, “Last one in bed

and fast asleep’s a rotten egg. Yaaaah!”

Foremole entered the study, rubbing his nose. “Oi jus’ bin a-runned over boi a mad creatur’. Hurr.”

Orlando laughed so hard he hurt his jaw.