19
Extract from the writings ofBarlom, Recorder Mouse of Red-wall Abbey and grandson of Timballisto, who was friend to Martin the Warrior.
I wish that I had known Martin the Warrior, but alas he is gone with the other heroes who helped to build this beautiful Abbey. My grandfather Timballisto (peace be upon his memory) used to tell me tales when I was a tiny Dibbun, stories of the wild old times. He would often sing songs or recite poems about the warriors who fought and helped to form our order, battled against tremendous odds, and made this Redwatl, this way of life for all of us whom they would never live to see. But that is the way of things, and we revere their names now, knowing they sleep in peace after a task well done. Only one remains amongst us; they say she is a living miracle, Bella the Ancient of Brockhall.
I had always known that female badgers have a great life span, but I have heard even the most senior of our elders say that the silver badger will go on forever. Poor creature, she is the most loving of beasts, almost blind with age now, a snail could move faster than she. Bella never talks of the old days. Abbess Meriam says that is because it is too painful for her. Long ago Bella lost a son of her own; nobeast knows what became of him. Now she cares for our young, the Dibbuns, and all the Abbeybabes are very fond of her. I myself have seen her send a wailing babe to sleep with merely a stroke of her paw upon its head. I hope that she will be with us for many long seasons yet; they say a badger may live almost four times as long as others, let us hope this is so.
Tonight there is to be a feast; we will be celebrating the memory of the great ones, Martin, Gonff the Mouse-thief, Columbine, Dinny the mole, Abbess Germaine, Ben Stickle, my own grandsire Timballisto, and a list of heroes, friends, and Redwallers too long to mention. There will be no sadness, but great joy in our Abbeyhow could we be unhappy to recall those who live forever in our minds? It would shame their memories for us to weep at table!
But enough of my ramblings. Im so absentminded that I missed lunch today, but that is soon to be remedied, for I hear the gruff tuneless singing of my friend Togget, grandson of Dinny. He never forgets to bring me a snack if he misses my face at table.
“Ho a bumblybee eem a wunnerful burd, Sings a song loike youm never hurrd, Ho a fuzzbuzz fuzzbuzz fuzzbuzz buzz, Thats all eem ever duzz duzz duzz!
Togget trundled into the gatehouse, bearing a tray covered with a cloth, then, bowing low, he whisked off the cloth neatly. “If n twerent furr oi, maister Barlom, eed starve-nunger gurtly. Veggible zoop, Tober Ale, applencheese furr ee!
Barlom took them gratefully from his friend. “What would I do without you, Togget? How can I repay you for your constant kindness to a dusty old Recorder?
The moles heavy digging claw reached out for Barloms quill. “Let oi make writin marks in ee gurt book, zurr.
“Hmm, well all right, just one, right here at the bottom of the page where nobeast will notice. Dip your pen, Togget.
Togget licked the quill point several times before dunking it deep into the inkwell. Smiling broadly, the little mole flourished the quill and bent to write at the foot of the page. Barlom smiled as he watched him. Eyes scrunched, tongue sticking from the side of his mouth, Togget concentrated on writing a big scrawling X. He dotted it with a full stop.
“Thurr, that be et, moi name! he announced.
Barlom shook his head as he retrieved his quill pen. “Thats not your name. Youre called Togget, that says ex. “
The mole nodded sagely. “Aye, hex, that be moi mark, oi be gudd at makin et, hurr!
Alongside the cross, Barlom wrote the name Togget. “There, thats how you write your name, see.
The mole patted his friends paw sympathetically. “Sum-toimes oi wunner why theym callen you a cleverbeast, maister Barlom, youm no gurt writer o moi name, hurr no! Ho well, oim off twake ee Friar oop now. Gubbye, zurr.
As soon as Togget was gone, Barlom burst out laughing.
Young Bryony watched Togget approaching as she sat sunning herself against the great Abbey wall. The pretty little mouse-maid wore a mob cap askew, and her white apron was stained with berry juice. She patted flourdust from her paws as she rose to meet her friend, complaining, “Ole Bunnys still snoring, I cant wake him.
Togget waved a paw in the air as if creating a spell. “Youm leave thatbeast to oi, moi dear.
Friar Bunfold was sleeping in his favorite place, an old wheelbarrow in the orchard. His bulging stomach rose and fell with each snore, the leaves of an overhanging pear tree trembling with every exhalation of his breath. Bryony covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as her molefriend shook the fat mousefriar by his sleeve urgently. “Coom on, ole zurr, wakey oop, ee toald oi to wake ee ifn ee gurt cake was a burnen in ee hoven!
Bunfold fell out of the barrow with a start. “Cake burning, where, what cake?
As Togget and Bryony ambled back off to the kitchens the mole nodded ruefully. “Dearie me, but oi do tell whackin fibbers, tho et did wake ole Bunny oop, hurr hurr, that et did!
Cheerful Redwallers called out to Bunfold as he bustled through Great Hall on his way to the kitchens.
“Good afternoon. Friar. Whats for dinner tonight?
Exercising his dry wit, Bunfold gave a mock scowl at a young squirrel. “Boiled frog an toasted clouds for you, Brugg, mladdo!
Brugg made a face, playing along with the Friar. “Yukk! Sooner have lightnin soup an ditchwater!
Togget managed to pull Bruggs tail as he passed. “Loight-nen zoopnditchwatter, oill see wot oi cn do for ee, maister, bo urr!
Bryony giggled helplessly at the face Brugg made, and gasped, “Dont be sad, Brugg, Ill see if I can bake a little thundercake to dip in your lightnin soup, hahahaha!
The Abbey kitchens were all abustle, clouds of steam wreathing the woodlanders as they dashed to and fro. A huge hedgehog wife called Myrtle waved a ladle at a large cake that lay on a stone cooling slab, saying, “Dyou want to slice it now, Friar? It baked well.
Selecting a flat, thin slicing knife, Bunfold winked at her. “Burnt cake eh, well lets see. Togget, bring the cherry conserve. Heartwood, is that meadowcream ready yet?
Heartwood, a reliable old otter, dipped his spoon into a pottery bowl and sampled the golden mixture. “Stirred gently to a turn, Friar matey, ready as ever!
Lifting the bowl, Bunfold was forced lo execute a nimble sideskip for two tiny otters scooting past with a laden trolley, both yelling in deep olderbeast voices, “Gangwaaaaay, watch ybacks there, mates!
Bunfold arrested their progress, catching both by their aprons as he halted the trolley with a quick footpaw. “Whoa there, steady up, Dibbuns. Whats all this?
The otter twins, Blatt and Scrimmo, waggled their tails respectfully at the Redwall Friar.
“Buttn mushrooms, matey, sir!
“Aye, an watershrimps too, sir, matey!
Bunfold sorted through the snowy white mushrooms and inspected the netful of almost transparent watershrimp. “Good work, Dibbuns. Did you gather these?
“Sir, this very mornin out in the woods, matey.
“Our mum elped us too, she said to bring em straight tyou.
Bunfold rummaged in his apron pocket and, pulling forth two candied chestnuts, he gave the otters one each. “Champion stuff! Dont forget an thank your mum for me. Theyll make great pasties for the feast this evenin. Want to stay and watch me cutnfill this big cake?
Blatt and Scrimmo nodded furiously. Myrtle lifted both and stood them on the cooling slab for a good view of the proceedings.