Springald and Fenna supported him volubly. “Horty’s right, it’s not fair. You let us think we were going all along, then changed your mind at the last moment!”
“Aye, it’s just because we’re young, and those two old wrecks want to grab all the glory for themselves. What do you think, Martha? Come on, tell them we’re right.”
Martha shook her head. “If the message from Sister Amyl, when she appeared in my dream with Martin the Warrior, had mentioned that you should go, I’d be the first to say yes. But only the two travellers, Bragoon and Saro, were included in the rhyme. So I’m afraid I must say no—not that my decision matters. Our Father Abbot has forbidden you to journey to Loamhedge, so you must abide by his word. Also, I trust Bragoon and Saro. They know of the dangers and are far more experienced at things like this than the three of you.”
Horty exploded. “It’s nothin’ but a confounded plot against us. Shame on all of you, shame I say!”
Abbot Carrul put his footpaw down sternly. “Enough of this talk! Arguing and casting insults is not the way in which any decent Redwaller should behave. Any more of this from you, Horty, or your two friends, and there’ll be three empty seats at the Summer Feast this afternoon!”
Horty glared back at the Abbot, his temper completely out of control. “Keep your rotten feast, blinkin’ bounders!”
The Abbot’s paw shot out. “Go to your rooms and stay there until you are ready to apologise, all three of you!”
The trio ran off, shouting, “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t be seen dead at your Feast!”
“Come on, leave those old greywhiskers to themselves!”
“You’ll be jolly well sorry, we’ll stay in the blinkin’ dormitory until we die of flippin’ starvation. So there!”
Abbot Carrul comforted Martha, who had become so upset that she had begun weeping. “There, there, Martha, don’t you waste tears on those three. Could you imagine Horty starving himself to death? ’Tis as unlikely as me trying to leap over the belltower. Give them a day and they’ll have changed their minds, trust me.” Carrul bowed slightly to Bragoon and Saro. “Please forgive the bad manners of those three young ones.”
Saro smiled wryly. “No need to apologise to us, friend. I can recall two, younger’n’Horty an’ his pals, two more bad-mannered liddle scuts ye never did see!”
Martha blinked through her tears. “Were you really that bad?”
Bragoon shuffled his rudder awkwardly. “Oh, much worse, missy. Take me word fer it!”
Abbot Carrul chuckled heartily. “Aye, now that you’ve come to mention it, ’tis a wonder you turned out so well!”
Bragoon clapped him on the back. “An’ ye, too, Carrul. Ye wasn’t exactly a model Dibbun as I remember!”
Whipping out a clean kerchief, the Abbot busily wiped away at Martha’s eyes. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago. Now then, missy, are you going to keep weeping and bring on the rain, or are you going to smile for our Summer Feast?”
She smiled happily. “Are you still going to carry on with the feast, Father, I mean after what just took place?”
Abbot Carrul reassured her. “Of course I am, no need to halt it because of three surly young ’uns. If they want to join in, all they have to do is apologise for their bad manners. Come on, friends, I wouldn’t miss my Summer Feast for anything!”
Set in the orchard against a background of ripening fruit and summer flowers, complete with sumptuously decked tables, the feast turned out to be a huge success. Freshly washed and dressed, the Redwallers took their places, waiting on the Abbot to start the proceedings. Martha sat between Bragoon and Saro. The three of them stared in awe at the magnificent spread. Salads, pasties and savouries were still being brought on trolleys by the servers. These were placed among the pies, tarts and flans. Jugs of various cordials and fizzes stood between trifles, crumbles, puddings and candied fruits. Loaves of many shapes and types, still fresh from the ovens, were set amid cheeses of different hues—from pale cream to golden yellow.
Everybeast, even the Dibbuns, ceased their chatter as Abbot Carrul stood up and recited a verse, specially written for the event.
“We celebrate this happy day,
with fair and right good reason,
in friendship, let us share the fruits,
of this fine summer season.
We seed and plant the fertile earth,
to use what she may give,
and thank the kindly summer sun,
which gives us joy to live.”
Granmum Gurvel, resplendent in a new floral-embroidered apron, called out. “You’m never spoked truer wurds, zurr!”
With that, the Summer Feast began in earnest. Junty Cellarhog tapped a barrel of strawberry fizz, which he had made the previous summer. Dibbuns squealed with delight as the bubbles tickled their mouths. Carving a wedge from a soft hazelnut cheese, Bragoon added it to his salad. Toran noticed him brushing away a teardrop.
“Wot’s the matter with ye, brother?”
The otter looked mournfully at the festive board. “Nothin’ really, I was just thinkin’ of all the Redwall feasts I’ve missed since me’n Saro left the Abbey.”
Toran scoffed. “Don’t fret, it looks like yore makin’ up for it with a will!”
Saro adopted a wheedling tone toward the ottercook. “Anybeast who can cook vittles like these should be famous. Toran, ole pal, why don’t ye come adventurin’ with me’n yore brother? You could cook for us an’ everybeast we meet.”
Toran lowered his eyes modestly. “No thankee, marm. I’m a mite too round in the waist for travellin’.”
Sister Portula put aside her plate in mock indignation. “Take our ottercook, indeed! Mayhaps you’d like to take Junty Cellarhog, too, in case you feel the need of a drink?”
Bragoon chortled. “Haharr, a capital idea, Sister!”
Abbot Carrul’s eyes twinkled as he joined the conversation. “I’m with you, Bragoon, a marvellous scheme! Take Toran and Junty, they’d make life much easier for you and Saro. However, I must insist that you take Sister Setiva along. If ever you are wounded, or fall ill, you’ll surely need a dedicated creature to care for you both. Agreed?”
Bragoon suddenly became interested in a bowl of plum pudding and meadowcream. He mumbled hastily, “Me’n’ Saro will make the journey alone, thankee Carrul.”
Good-humoured banter and cheerful gossiping carried on into the warm summer noontide, a perfect accompaniment to the delicious feast. Having eaten their fill, the Dibbuns ran off to play within the Abbey grounds.
After awhile, Saro glanced at the sun’s position and announced, “We’ll have t’get goin’ soon. Best be on the road afore we lose the daylight.”
Her otter friend patted his stomach. “Aye, though I reckon we won’t need much feedin’ for a day or two. That was the nicest food an’ the best company I can ever recall. Thankee, friends, for everythin’.”
The Abbot smiled. “It was our pleasure. I knew you’d be going today, so I’ve had two packs of provisions made up by Granmum Gurvel. They should last you quite a time. Inside them you’ll find all you need—the map, the poem telling of the location of Sister Amyl’s secret and extra garments to wear. Now, is there anything else you two would like to take, anything?”
Bragoon replied without hesitation. “I’d like to take with me the memory of a sweet song. Martha, would ye sing us a song to send us on our way?”
Saro added. “Aye, go on, missy, put the birds t’shame!”
The haremaid’s clear voice rang out into the still noon air. She sang for her two friends as she had never sung before. They sat entranced by Martha’s beautiful voice.
“I planted her gently last summer,
all in quiet evening shade,
within an orchard bower,
her little bed I made.
Alone I sat by my window,
as autumn leaves did fall,
they formed a russet cover for
My Rose of Old Redwall.