Leatho and Brantalis reached the raft, still holding on to Pandion’s body. Willing paws helped them aboard. Tiria bowed with the weight of the slain osprey as she hugged his body tearfully.
Leatho gently disengaged her from the dead hawk. “Time for grievin’ later on, marm. We’ve got a war t’fight!”
Banya stared grimly at the pier. “Aye, an’ we’re goin’ t’miss it if’n this thing doesn’t move any faster. Lookit that!”
Before the otters on the shores could even mount the pier, the air was rent with a perilous roar. “Eulaliiiiiaaaaa!” Straight through the smokebound hallway, having entered the fortress from the rear, they burst forth onto the landing: the Long Patrol warriors, backed by a horde of yelling otterslaves whom they had freed.
Colour Sergeant O’Cragg’s stentorian tones rang out over the bewildered catguards huddled on the pier. “Forward the buffs! Give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliiiaaa!”
Leatho waved the pole he was paddling the raft along with. “Let’s cheer ’em on, mates! Ee aye eeeeeeeee!”
Some catguards fled; others tried to fight. But the day of reckoning had arrived. They were no match for the hares, and more especially for the freed slaves they had tyrannised and abused for long seasons. Before the day was much older, there was not a living cat left in sight. They were, as Corporal Drubblewick put it, “either bloomin’ well dead or flippin’ well fled, wot!”
Cuthbert had now reverted to his role as Regimental Major Frunk. He strode smartly aboard the raft, throwing a brisk salute. “All present an’ correct, wot! Queen Tiria, please accept me ’pologies, marm. We must look a confounded sight!”
He wagged an ear at the two subalterns. “You chaps, get the uniforms an’ dish ’em out, sharpish! My buckoes look like they’ve just escaped from a ragged robin’s roundelay. Give Sergeant O’Cragg me compliments, an’ tell him I want the Long Patrol on parade, soon as poss, washed, brushed, combed an’ curried. Jump to it!”
Tiria stood gazing at the fortress, which was now an inferno. The upper storeys had burned through, collapsing into the lower ones. Tongues of flame were now crackling along the pier. She shook her head regretfully.
“It would have made a fine castle for the Clans and me.”
Leatho took her to one side, speaking low. “No otter would willin’ly live there, marm. The place stunk of cats. There’s too many generations o’ bad memories within its walls. It’s better off as a heap of ole ashes, to stay as a warnin’ to foebeasts.”
Tiria bowed to the outlaw’s superior knowledge. “You’re right, of course. It seems I have a lot to learn.”
Leatho bowed gallantly. “Don’t worry, yore Majesty. I’m here to help ye, all ye have t’do is ask.”
Taking his advice literally, Tiria asked, “Tell me, what’s this Holt Summerdell place like?”
Banya was the one who answered. “ ’Tis a place fit for a queen. It’s like the nicest spot ye’ve ever dreamed of but never believed ye’d ever see!”
That night, by the light of the burning fortress, the bodies of the slain were put to rest. Carcasses of catguards, along with that of Riggu Felis, were consigned to the flames of their stronghold. Otters who had fallen, along with the osprey Pandion Piketalon, were placed upon the flower-decked raft and floated out onto the lake’s centre, where the raft was sunk, following an ancient Green Isle tradition. The clans stood on the shore, chanting a dirge in some bygone language which Tiria could not understand. She enquired of Leatho as to its meaning. He translated it for her.
“Thy memory stays midst friends,
’neath water thy body lies,
thy spirit lives, a warrior star,
set high in darkened skies.
I’ll look for thee when day is done,
thou jewel in night’s crown,
a fearless legend, burning brave,
forever shining down.”
A hefty paw touched Tiria’s shoulder. Colour Sergeant O’Cragg whispered in her ear, “We’ve ’eard that afore, h’ain’t we, miss?”
Big Kolun Galedeep and his brother Lorgo, with lots of willing help, had managed to save loads of supplies from the catguards’ barracks. Kolun waved his oar aloft, proclaiming to everybeast, “Tonight’s Victory Feast Night. Sleep in late tomorrow, then we takes our queen back to Holt Summerdell. Do I hear any arguments?”
Nobeast ever argued with Kolun, with the exception of his missus. Besides, they were all more than willing to go along with his excellent plan. Temporarily shunning her role as queen, Tiria joined Corporal Drubblewick and a host of ottermums who had never seen such an array of food to cook with. They used burning pier boards as a fire and set up barrels of drink on the lakeshore sand. The otterclans were highly amused with the antics of the hares, who were always hungry and in high good humour after a battle. Little otterbabes chuckled uproariously as the hares sang barrack-room ballads.
“There’s goin’ to be a mutinee,
mate, I’m a-tellin’ you,
if there ain’t skilly’n’duff for tea,
to feed this big fat crew.
Don’t dish ’em up no salad leaves,
or no burrgooly stew,
if there ain’t skilly’n’duff for tea,
they might eat me’n’you!
Whoa! Skilly’n’duff, that’s the stuff,
for my ole crew t’chew,
it’s hot’n’thick so take your pick,
it’ll do the trick if you feel sick.
So fill yore tum, by gum ole chum,
don’t pant’n’wheeze’n’puff,
you’ll run like a hare an’ fight like a bear,
on good ole skilly’n’duff.
So don’t stand lookin’ silly, feed me lots o’ skilly
. . . an’ duff!”
They sang it twice more, each time speeding up the words. Tiria sang along with the bits she could catch; though, like the otterbabes, she mostly whooped and thumped the ground with her rudder. It was all such good fun! She looked at the happy faces around the fire, sniffed at the savoury aromas from the cooking and thanked her good fortune that the day had ended so well. The rule of the cats was finished; she had slain Riggu Felis, the tyrant. The thought of killing another creature did not sit easy on her mind, but when the ottermaid saw all the freed slaves, she felt thoroughly justified by her swift action in the heat of battle.
The food, when it arrived, was a real victory feast. Tiria sat sampling the various dishes with Brantalis, Colour Sergeant O’Cragg, Banya, Leatho and her two subalterns. There was an unending supply of shrimp’n’hotroot soup for the otters, plenty of skilly’n’duff for the hares, trifles and tarts for the little ones and so many different pasties that it was hard to choose which one to try next.
Big Kolun passed a dish to the barnacle goose. “Get yore ole beak around that, mate. It’s leek an’ roasted parsnip in hazelnut sauce!”
Brantalis clacked his beak happily. “I am thinking this will taste as good as it looks!”
Tiria patted her friend’s long neck. “I’m sure it will, mate. I wish our Redwallers were here to join in with all this. My dad, Brink and those three rascals Brinty, Tribsy and Girry.”
Brantalis looked up from the dish he was about to sample. “I am thinking I should have mentioned your friend, the mouse named Brinty.”
Tiria chuckled. “Why, what’s that rogue been up to?”
The barnacle goose shook his head mournfully. “Alas, the young mouse is dead.”