Not having heard Skipper’s conversation with Tam, the hares watched him in awe. Two of the most opinionated in the group exchanged comments.
“Strewth! Must have some blinkin’ energy, wot? Marchin’ since dawn, then goin’ off for a jolly old swim like that!”
“Indeed, you wouldn’t catch me doin’ that, old lad. Dabble the paws a bit, that’s my style. Where’s the Skipper gone, sah?”
Tam lay back on the bank, closing his eyes. “Wait an’ see.”
They had not long to wait. Shortly thereafter, Skipper bounded up onto the bank and tossed a long, wrapped bundle to Tam. “Found these in a hole on the other bank, right where that rascal stowed ’em awhile back!”
Tam unwrapped the wet banner of Squirrelking Araltum from about his claymore. He wielded the blade fondly. “My thanks to ye, Skip. You’ve done me a great favour!”
Skipper shook himself like a dog, spraying some young hares with water. “My pleasure, Tam. The sun’ll dry yore flag out tomorrow. Ye can polish yore sword up, an’ the followin morn y’can march into the Abbey—double-bladed, wavin’ the flag an’ singin’ yore ’ead off!”
Tam looked thoughtful. “Maybe, Skip. That’s if Redwall hasn’t been taken by the vermin!”
34
Abbot Humble was halfway between sleep and wakefulness in the grey dawn when he realised that somebeast was pounding on the wine cellar door. Rising in his bed slowly, the old hedgehog called out hoarsely, “Who in the name of seasons is banging like that?”
The sounds had roused young Burlop. He hastened to the door, assuring the Abbot, “I’ll see who it is, Father. Don’t disturb yourself!”
Humble sat up in his little truckle bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked up and found himself confronted by Sister Armel. “What is it, Sister? Has somebeast been taken ill? Do you need my help at the Infirmary?”
Armel sat down on the side of the bed. “Nothing like that, Father, but I must speak with you.”
Blinking dozily, Humble held up a paw to silence her. “Wait, don’t tell me! You’ve had a dream . . . Martin the Warrior spoke to you. Am I right?”
Astonishment was evident on the Sister’s pretty face. “But . . . But . . . How did you know?”
The old hedgehog smiled indulgently at his young friend. “Because I’ve had one, too. It all came back to me the moment I looked up and saw you standing here.”
Armel’s big brown eyes went wide. “Martin sent me a message in verse. Listen to this. . . .”
Before she could speak further, Humble was repeating the words, line by line.
“Behold two swords and a banner,
watch out for the Walking Stone.
The brother is gone, ’tis the warrior
who must face the Savage alone.”
Sister Armel grasped the Abbot’s paw. “Those were Martin’s very words, Father. What does he mean?”
Humble shook his head. “If I knew that, Armel, I would be wiser than any beast who ever ruled Redwall as Abbot.”
Brother Burlop arrived with two pottery beakers of freshly brewed mint and comfrey tea. “Just a liddle somethin’ I made on the forge fire for ye. Be careful, Sister, it’s hot. You’n the Father sip that. ’Twill wake ye up while you talk. Don’t mind me, I’ll just go about my chores.”
They thanked Burlop. Armel watched him strapping on his heavy coopering apron and trundling off with an empty cask. “He’s such a kind and caring creature! Isn’t he, Father?”
Humble blew steam from his beaker and sipped gratefully. “The best! Young Burlop’s the son I never had. Now, what about our dream, Sister?”
They were interrupted by a thump against the door and muffled squeaks from the stairs outside. After another thump, the frowzy little head of Mimsie the mousebabe appeared around the door.
“Sitter H’Armil, that naughty Mudge bee’s pullin’ me tail!”
Mudge the molebabe could be heard behind her. “Ho no oi b’ain’t! You’m a-tellin’ tales abowt yurr tail, jus’ to get oi in trubble!”
The door creaked open to reveal both Dibbuns, still in nightshirts, wrestling.
“Hoo! You’m pullen’ moi nose! Lookit, marm, she’m turmentin’ oi gurtly!”
Mimsie let out a piteous wail. “Waaaaah! Mudge jus’ stampid on me paw!”
Armel smiled apologetically at the Abbot. “Sorry, Father. Our talk will have to wait until later.”
She hurried to the stairs and separated the tiny pair. “Be still, both of you! What are you doing out of bed? It’s nowhere near breakfast time yet! The morning bell hasn’t even sounded and you’re running around down here in your nighties. I can’t abide naughty Dibbuns, nor can the Father Abbot!”
Tearfully, Mimsie pointed an accusing paw at Mudge. “He woked me up an’ hitted me wiv a pillow!”
The molebabe stuck out his small, fat stomach truculently. “No oi diddent! You’m a gurt mowsey fibber!”
“Yis y’did!”
“No oi diddent!”
“Did!”
“Diddent!”
Armel raised her voice. “Silence, both of you! Mudge, what did I tell you only yesterday about fighting with your friends?”
The molebabe growled out indignantly, “You’m only telled oi not to foight wi’ Perkle, marm. Ee diddent say ought about foightin’ Mimsie!”
Armel wagged a paw severely at him. “I meant all Dibbuns, not just Perkle.”
Mudge stared at the Sister pityingly, then threw up his paws. “Then you’m should’ve said h’all. ’Ow bee’s oi apposed t’know?”
The Abbot appeared, fully dressed. A broad smile was growing over his face as he grabbed both Dibbuns by their paws. “Sister Armel, what do you say we take these two rogues up to breakfast? I’m sure Friar Glisum is up and about now. But we’ll have to ask him nicely, because I don’t think he serves early breakfast to naughty Dibbuns. Come on.”
All four retreated upstairs, chattering animatedly.
“Does h’Abbots bee’s naughty, too, Sitter H’Armil?”
“Certainly not, Mimsie. You have to be good if you want to be Abbot. Isn’t that right, Father?”
“It certainly is, Sister Armel. I was a good little Dibbun.”
“Hurr, no you’m wurrn’t, zurr. Wunderin’ Walt sayed you’m wurr a likkle villyun.”
“Oh, did he indeed? I’ll have to have a word with Wandering Walt!”
“Oi’m goin’ t’be naughty when oi’m h’Abbot!”
“Hmph, when you grow up we’ll probably make you Abbey villain!”
“Hurrhurr, h’Abbey villyun. Oi loikes that gurtly, marm!”
Morning brought with it soft, grey skies and a fine drizzle of warm rain, which many Redwallers predicted would last through midnoon. There was plenty to do inside the Abbey; everybeast busied themselves with a multitude of chores. Sister Armel sat in the Infirmary with the Abbot and Sister Screeve, trying to figure out the meaning of Martin’s cryptic message. Outside, Brother Demple tended to his vegetable patch and orchard. A true son of the soil, Demple was never bothered by rain. The stolid mouse made a hood, which went over his head and shoulders, from an old sack. He worked on alone, weeding between the drills of his salad crop.
The Abbey Gardener was totally unaware of any activity on top of the east wall. Rakkety Tam MacBurl had scaled a high elm, close to the wall in the outside woodlands. He raced along a broad branch which quivered up and down as he bounced upon it. With a tremendous bound he flung himself out into space. No other beast but Tam could have accomplished such a daring feat. His paws latched on to a battlement; there he clung a moment before leaping up and over, landing silently on the walkway. Drawing the small Sghian Dhu from his hat, the squirrel warrior cautiously descended the east wallsteps and quietly opened the wallgate. Leaving Skipper and the Long Patrol hares to follow him, Tam raced through the deserted, drizzle-cloaked grounds, heading for the hooded figure he had espied.